


A Public Declaration of Love Is Dangerous, Especially When You're Not All That Interested In The Other Person

by kuonji



Category: DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Denial, Fanboying, Humor, Identity Porn, M/M, Pining, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: "Nobody doesn't love Superman."  Grinning, Bruce said, "Who on Earth could possibly not love him?"If -- and this was only a hypothetical -- if Bruce had the ability to travel through time, he would return to the television interview three weeks ago, and he would choke to death that idiotic self who was spouting nonsense in front of the camera.Too bad he couldn't.So, what came after was probably exactly what he deserved.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 223
Kudos: 694





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [公开示爱很危险，尤其当你没有那么喜欢对方的时候](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22583554) by [CrimsonMapleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonMapleLeaves/pseuds/CrimsonMapleLeaves). 



> Thank you very much to CrimsonMapleLeaves for giving me permission to try my hand at translating this delightful work. Right off the bat, I was tickled by this stream-of-consciousness, somewhat foul-mouthed Bruce who is frenetically _shoving his real emotions into the back of the cave_ , because who needs them anyway, thank you very much. While reading this story, I couldn't help but imagine what it would sound like in English, and I'm honored for the opportunity to make that a reality. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. If so, please travel on over to the original page and give it a kudos as well. Thanks for reading!

If -- and this was only a hypothetical -- if Bruce had the ability to travel through time, he would return to the television interview three weeks ago, and he would choke to death that idiotic self who was spouting nonsense in front of the camera. However, first of all, he didn't; secondly, if he were to carefully reflect on and examine it, his answer at the time couldn't really be considered 'nonsense'. In fact, at first look, it had seemed quite logical, after passing through the 3-5 minutes of detailed deliberation given by the Batman before accepting the formal interview. One must understand: The vast majority of things that Brucie had to worry about could only be spared a maximum of two minutes of time from the Bruce that was simultaneously living two different lives. So, this whole situation didn't actually deserve any vexatious regrets. He'd done his best with the scenarios that he could predict at the time.

Perhaps this was exactly why he felt a wave of outrage. Not only was his ego bruised, but he had the furious feeling that fate was setting up against him.

Still, neither fury nor regret could save the present him or pull him out of the crowd that was currently pushing him toward Superman. Everyone was excitedly riveted on this tableau. Shouts of, "Brucie! Brucie! Kiss him, give him a kiss! Give him a taste of Gothamite passion!" surrounded him.

Gotham didn't do passion. Bruce snorted. That was more the style of the goddamned Metropolis. Even if he was in Metropolis right now and facing the top-line mascot of Metropolis, he couldn't help his desire to mock the entire situation.

That man, on the other hand -- that man floating in mid-air, despite weighing over two hundred pounds, light and graceful as a butterfly lighting on the point of a pin, innocent, honest, pure as unadulterated wool off a lamb -- his gaze.

This was giving Bruce a sudden, acute headache.

Honestly.

How on Earth did all this start.

***

The most direct accelerant was probably three weeks ago, when Bruce Wayne, as President of Wayne Enterprises, appeared on a live interview. For Bruce, this was the kind of thing that didn't require much extra attention to prepare for. He didn't need to be too smart, due to the established character of Precious Brucie, and he didn't need to be too dumb, since being dumb would draw equal suspicion. He just needed to be empty-headed window dressing, curious about anything and everything, equally unruffled by anything and everything, so that people's teeth itched with irritation at him. Even so, after he had taken Two-Face back to Arkham, had four hours of sleep, had breakfast and a copy of the current quarter's company financial report, he had spent some time (that is, the time it took for Alfred to take him to the television studio) considering answers to some questions.

For instance, regarding his official stance on the fact that Wayne Enterprises had invested heavily in the Justice League.

He would certainly be asked on why he was financially supporting the Justice League. There were a lot of official reasons, from "It's the _Justice_ League!" to "It's about time to add something interesting to my collections." In any case, unfortunately, prior to this, Brucie had been decidedly antipathetic toward superheroes, even dodging as if to avoid conflict.

"Mr. Bruce Wayne, how do you feel about the hero patrolling Gotham by night, inhabiting that gray area between justice and criminality?" a reporter, five years ago, nearly shoving the microphone into his mouth, had asked.

"You've certainly stumped me." The Bruce then had evinced an innocent, charismatic smile, befitting that oblivious young dilletante, focused only on playing golf. "But come on, what does that have to do with me? I can't get up any kind of interest for a boring man like that."

"Boring." That reporter, drawing on many years of rolling in the entertainment columns and tabloid scandals, had seized on the phrase with alacrity. "Which is to say, if he were able to catch your _interest_ , you wouldn't mind deepening your relationship. If he were to kiss you, would you consent, Mr. Wayne? If he..."

"Oh, please don't say that, honey." He'd winked, his expression as unruffled as ever, with an attitude of dissolute arrogance. "We don't even know what he's hiding under that mask: Zorro or the Phantom. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and go mad from fright because of the person in bed with me. Now, please make way." He'd squeezed his way the best he could between the reporter and the doorway. "My beauties are waiting for me, you know."

Just that one sentence, that one simple throwaway utterance... Who would have known that the next day, "Gotham's Precious Boy Publicly Declares Love, Asks Only For One Kiss From the Batman Beneath The Mask" would become the newspaper headline. Put aside the straight male fans and the girlfriend fans, the thirsty "It could be me" oldster fans, and the "Anything Bruce does is right" mom fans. A wave of energy erupted up a mysterious organization digging through just how well Bruce and Batman went together. They investigated Batman's images and Bruce's figure ("So he's not actually that short. God, I thought he wasn't all that tall, but he only has to stand on his toes a little bit and he can kiss Batman!!"), investigated Batman's appearances and Bruce's travel itineraries (I heard that Batman appeared in the East Docks today, and at the same time, Bruce was having dinner at the top restaurant in the Eastern quarters-- this has to be a lovers' tryst). When Poison Ivy appeared in front of Bruce to interrogate him as to whether he might wear the Robin uniform to mess around with Batman, Bruce knew this situation had to end.

No Batman, No Superheroes. What even are superheroes. No interest. Bye. See ya.

And now, he had to find a reason to explain why he was investing in the Justice League. It couldn't be too serious a reason, because that would clash with his usual style. It couldn't be too frivolous either, because he couldn't allow certain people who had since given up to revive their fires.

"Why are you financially supporting the Justice League, Mr. Wayne? Everyone knows, superheroes aren't the sort of thing that will give you a super return on investment. In fact, given past reports, you might have to be responsible for a large amount of damages they cause..."

"Wayne Enterprises has always been focused on charity work, from the Martha Foundation from my parents' generation, to the Thomas Scholarship Fund, recently founded to support Gotham public schools. We're focused on, uh, kids studying, poor folks' livings. I remember that somewhere in Africa, we-- You can ask my secretary later. We're supporting a lot of... Anyway, we've always donated to charities. And I believe that the Justice League, as the frontline protecting our world, is a group worthy of the same level of attention."

"You seem very interested in them, but there have been voices recently saying that because superheroes have powers that surpass humankind, they've become a danger themselves. If they ever point their spearhead at us, what are we to do? Will the support of Wayne Enterprises increase their speed at hunting down humankind?"

Discussing philosophy and analysis of current events weren't Brucie's fortes, so Bruce Wayne spread his hands with a grin. "Oh, don't be like that, honey. I'm sure the bigwigs will have ways to take care of all that. But look, their leader, that guy called Superman? Have you ever seen the way his eyes glow when he's giving press conferences? I've never seen a man with such limpid eyes. He's so built, so strapping, yet he just wants to use that strength to do little bits of good like saving kittycats. If that kind of man is dangerous, then I can't think of any person who can be called safe. Have a little faith in him."

"You seem like you really like Superman."

This was the question that had caused him to fall into the abyss of hell.

But, the Bruce at the time only gave a slight pout and raised the corner of his mouth 30%, the perfect picture of a flirty Brucie asking for a li'l sugar.

"Nobody doesn't love Superman." He said, "Who on Earth could possibly not love him?"

***

Who could possibly not love him?

In other words, he loved Superman.

That night, the BruBat fandom, having starved from years of a lack of sugar and subsequent lack of worshippers, officially declared dissolution. The SuperBruce and BruSupes fandoms sprang gloriously onto the stage. Fans of the former believed that Superman had to be the top, shit, can you see the Man of Steel lying back and allowing himself to be fucked? Supporters of the latter believed that the guy who can fart money will always be the Daddy, shit, you can tell that none of you have ever been crushed by capitalism. But to tell the truth, what does any of this have to do with Bruce?

He was still the President of Wayne Enterprises, that cad, Brucie, who talked without thinking and tried to pick up anything pretty.

Up until three weeks later, when he was invited to Metropolis for some ribbon-cutting work at a Wayne Enterprises branch office, and, as usual, some unexpected events occurred. Honestly, this was just the hallmark of a superhero story -- he's invited to whatever place, and then the whatever place coincidentally has some kind of robbery-hostage-prison escape etc. event to add some color. Did the crime cause superheroes or did superheroes stimulate crime? This kind of chicken-and-egg problem can be set aside for now. Anyway--

When Metallo, in the middle of dodging Superman's pursuit, crashed into the banquet hall, Wayne had to squeeze under a banquet table with everyone else and pretend he was only a little Schrodinger's President. When Superman, true to his name, descended from on high like a god while dangling Metallo, like a guided missile directed to destroy Wayne Enterprises property, he was choked tightly by the woman next to him amid shouts of, "Superman!!! It's Superman!!!! Superman has come to save us!!!!!!" in a sharp soprano. And when he'd finally struggled free of the pressure and suffocation of oppressive breasts and clambered out, face flushed red, from under the table with everyone else......

Everyone turned with _expectation_ to stare at him.

"Look, Brucie, it's Superman!" Don't call me by that nickname. We're not that close.

"It's Superman! Superman! Your favorite, Superman! Why don't you say something, Brucie? He came expressly to save you. Oh, this is too romantic." Thank you, but I would think this was more romantic if he could damage less of the venue.

"Don't just gape and stare." Someone actually surreptitiously shoved his shoulder. "Go on, Brucie, let him have a taste of Gothamite passion."

If one could automatically translate that classic, "This is _my_ Gotham!" into "Hello there, have you had dinner yet?" then I do indeed squat on a gargoyle every evening, letting him experience Gothamite passion, Bruce thought to himself dryly.

Honestly.

Let Superman have a taste of Gotham passion, from Batman?

"I think Superman must be pretty busy right now." Although Superman probably didn't know Batman was Bruce Wayne yet, and as long as everything was under his control, he was certainly not about to let the Boyscout in front of him discover he was the famed philanderer, Bruce Wayne -- but hypothetically, on the off chance, if (Batman always had to calculate the probability of every unlikely scenario), if there came a day when Superman were to discover his real identity.

Superman would make fun of him over this for the rest of his life.

Oh, but actually, Superman might not make fun of him.

But he would hate Superman over this for the rest of his life.

So, for the sake of the working relationship between the Future World's Finest, Bruce determinedly knocked away those hands on his shoulders and the ones angling to push him to Superman's side. "Anyway, I'm quite sure Mr. Superman's not interested in this type of thing. Why go causing extra grief for this cutie of a superhero?"

He hoped the Kryptonian would take this opportunity to fly away. For instance, the police might finally drag the malfunctioning Metallo into a police car, or Superman might hear some damned cat, sitting in a tree, calling from somewhere. Any reason would be fine. All he had to do was to seize this window of time, smile like always, wave, and shoot up up and away into the stars like an arrow. Nobody would blame him.

But however he pushed and protested and tried to prevent him and Superman entering into this devastating pile of trouble, Superman, floating lightly in the garden beside the fountain, waiting for the police to take care of the cleanup, making sure Metallo didn't revive-- that Superman wasn't a bit of help.

Not only did he not help, his goddamned super-hearing must have been out of order, because he couldn’t hear the League's top financial contributor spouting all kinds of nonsense in order to avoid meeting him. In fact, he looked like he was waiting for a bus, bored and relaxed, distracted in a way that most people wouldn't notice but that Batman recognized at a glance. At the mandatory weekly Justice League meeting, when they started to discuss things like financial expenditures, like budgets, etc., things Superman wasn't interested in, he would look like this. Of course, it wasn't as if Bruce was complaining about how Superman was useless except for damaging buildings, increasing losses... Occasionally, he would abruptly stop and ask Superman his opinion on a topic.

He couldn't deny that the first time he had done this, he'd been hoping to teach this mind-wandering Kryptonian a lesson. However, without moving a muscle except for frowning slightly, in less than a second, this "square and honest" Kryptonian had given his customary perfect smile along with an answer.

Super-speed and a super-brain. Of course. He had cheated.

Batman always wanted to catch Kal-El being distracted at a meeting, and Kal-El would never let Batman catch any shred of him being distracted. This had become a sort of secret game between just the two of them that neither of them ever mentioned. Up to now, Batman had yet to win once, but despite that, his competitive nature assured him that he was going to succeed in catching Superman in the next three months-- but this is getting off track.

Let's return to the topic at hand.

Namely, Superman, who should be taking off and rocketing into the sky and ending this whole godforsaken ordeal.

The one next to the fountain right now.

The one ostentatiously letting his mind wander.

It was exactly this Superman, defenseless, innocently harmless, like a dog yawning next to a fire, at once lovable and engendering enmity. In the face of this, even the Batman, despite being always logical and online, couldn't help but recall in detail all the times the Kryptonian had been distracted in public, making the League consultant feel it absolutely necessary to criticize him... causing him to become distracted for a second.

Only a second.

And then Bruce discovered that he was being shoved forward by the crowd.

......It didn't take any thought to put this mistake squarely on Superman's head, thank you very much. Although he would never let Superman know where his head had been at just then, in any case, he was shoved forward, and he had to act the part of a drunkenly flustered klutz, stumbling forward a few steps. And when he at last clumsily tried to straighten up and figure out his surroundings, that hand appeared in front of him.

That hand.

That well-articulated -- instantly recognizable by the League consultant from how he had seen it countless times, those long elegant fingers, that palm that was callus-less and flawless like jade, and that way it was held out (please don't misunderstand anything from this, even though it's probably unavoidable) -- that goddamned hand.

"Do you need help?" A voice came to him from over his head.

Bruce thought for two seconds.

Whatever. Damn it.

He gave up.

Snagging Superman around the waist, he used that steel-plate-like, sturdy, pliable lumbar area to straighten himself, and at the same time, a kiss landed on Superman's cheek.

"For sure." Grinning, he said, "Thank you for saving me, my sweet Mr. Superman."


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn't let Superman know that the goddamned Batman had kissed him. From this day forth and until the rest of Superman's life, he had better never even think about finding out that inside the Batman there was contained one Bruce. He'd better never even goddamn think it.

"You weren't the first person to try to kiss Superman by force, Master Bruce." Alfred, bringing him coffee, tried to comfort him. "Although you were the first to succeed at kissing Superman by force. Using the popular vernacular, you're a national top idol now."

Bruce Wayne didn't want to become a national idol. Just let Brucie be an idle, layabout, useless rich boy, thank you.

"So when can I have Superman sign as my guardian? Can I save that report card? It's really hard to get Superman's autograph nowadays. Do you think he might think I haven't bought enough Superman merch, that I don't support him enough? But the house has so much Batman stuff, and that's not my fault...... Hey, Bruce! That's my homework. I've only just finished it!!! This is petty revenge, Bruce!"

After an accidental slip of the hand splashed coffee onto Dick's homework, Bruce finally focused on the turbulent League news before him. Half of the popup windows appearing featured a Kal-El being kissed by Brucie. The other half were of Superman's wide, tolerant smile at Brucie right after that kiss.

"That was just my job." In the wavering shot, Superman stared straight at him as he spoke.

"......Uh. Oh." In his imagination, Superman's face should have blushed red in an instant, and he should have pushed Brucie -- snuggling like glue against his chest -- away like he'd been bitten by a snake. However, Superman -- as unpredictable as always, the classic nice Superman, definitely no worries he might be a supervillain replacement -- acted as if he hadn't even noticed he'd been taken advantage of. He stayed exactly in place until Bruce was steady on his feet before slightly backing away a tiny bit.

Wow. Great, Bruce thought coolly. He could already imagine the contents of the newspapers that would be flying around the world tomorrow: "How did the Babe of Gotham Catch A Beauty? Why Was the Son of Krypton Taken Advantage of In Public? How Were Metropolis's Standards Pulled Down In Such Shameless Fashion? Is This All Due To Personal Perversion or Decline in Morals? Welcome back to 'Gotham Tonight' and our series of reports, where we follow the camera together to explore the inner mind of Wayne (Company President) at the moment when he subverted the rules of conduct with the Justice League's leader."

"You seem completely oblivious to the fact that every action you take reflects on the League's reputation." Batman stared at Superman in ornery opposition at their meeting.

"That was just a thank you kiss." The Son of Krypton was taking this whole thing lightly, making one's teeth itch in irritation. He shrugged. "Don't be like this, B. It was an effort for him."

......Fuck your 'effort'.

"You know that isn't what I was talking about, Superman." He continued coldly, "The important thing is what you said after the kiss. Cyborg, replay the video."

The recording swiftly stopped on where the League consultant indicated. The familiar ease with which this happened made Bruce wonder just how many times the young manhad privately enjoyed this video clip.

In the recording, after at last politely freeing himself from Brucie's verbal harassment, the League leader, floating effervescently in mid-air, and even at this moment remembering to be so patient it made your hair stand up on end, said softly, "I would be happy to continue this discussion, Mr. Wayne, but please forgive me. I hear something." He even tilted his head and point at his own ear with a finger. "Perhaps outside of work hours."

"Goodbye," Superman had said gently, before leaving. "You know, if you need anything, you only have to yell into the sky. I'll hear it."

What was left behind was only a scattered mess of feathers: Was Superman bisexual, gay, or an innocent employee who'd been workplace harassed?

Bruce wanted to return to three weeks ago and choke himself to death, that idiot talking nonsense in front of the camera.

Meanwhile, "How should we view how the leader of the Justice League not only didn't react to sexual harassment from his boss but even reciprocated? Is financing the Justice League merely a first step in picking up the Son of Krypton? Can the $100 I donated to the rebuilding crowdfund, back before the Justice League was founded, be counted as a financial contribution to the Justice League?" climbed like fire to the top of all the Most Popular lists of the biggest Q&A websites.


	3. Chapter 3

I was wrong, so wrong, Bruce thought to himself. From the start, I shouldn't have been spouting off. If I hadn't spouted that nonsense, Superman -- the moron -- wouldn't have come out of the closet in front of the whole world. If he hadn't come out, I wouldn't have fallen into this awkward headache of a situation. If I hadn't fallen into this situation......

Then he wouldn't be a pitiable bat, captured by some incompetent bad guys and having to pretend to be an innocent idiot President and then have to wait for Robin to come rescue him.

Damn it, Bruce thought. If you round everything all up, this was still all Superman's fault.

But that wasn't what his current company of kidnappers thought.

"This is all your fault." A bad guy was shouting himself hoarse. "How could you betray Batman!!!!!"

"......Uh."

There were a couple of seconds, even though Bruce would never admit it, where Superman's words, "Shout into the sky. I'll hear it." flitted through his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be dragged into a debate over whether Bruce loved Superman or Batman more, but he was very sure that being rescued in a princess hold by Superman the week after sexually harassing him would be a bad way to handle this situation. Honestly, why did he like the princess carry so much? "He's not a good lover, you know?" he replied drily. "Blood, violence, there isn't a bit of romance in his whole body."

"Batman doesn't need romance!!!!" He would never understand Gothamites, especially what kind of image he held in the mind of Gotham bad guys. "He's an idol! A symbol! A god! A darkness that covers this world! When the idol of your lifetime finally chooses to give a fan a pity fuck for once, how can your head be filled with _romance_? Have you been kicked in the head by a mule, Wayne?!"

"Tch hee."

Coming in that instant, in that narrow, dark space, the sound was so abrupt that it drew everyone's gaze. He and the kidnappers turned their heads slowly as one to glare at the reporter who was also locked in the cage but wasn't showing a bit of the hopeless, keening terror that would be appropriate for him.

"......Ah, um." The big guy shrank back, but given the tiny space in the cage, that gesture wasn't enough to hide his big 'n' tall presence. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please-- Please continue. Just pretend I'm not here."

"......John." The head baddie was silent for a couple of seconds. When he spoke again, his voice had become oily in a way that raised red flags. "Our...... friend from Metropolis," he stared for several seconds at the reporter's badge, "how did he get into our Gothamite cage?"

"When we escorted Wayne out, he grabbed onto Wayne and wouldn't let go, Boss!" The kidnapper, John, yelled from a ways away. "He was such a pain, we just brought him along. Should we take care of him?"

This last question clanged sudden alarm bells for Bruce. 'Shooting the hostage' might be the number one taboo among kidnappers, but Gotham was, after all, a city of simple folks. Often, kidnappers might not be like the city folk of Metropolis, who would calculate prison sentences on their fingers back and forth. Bruce couldn't judge for sure whether they might not really make this reporter into a sort of opening ceremonies sacrifice.

So he shifted stealthily toward the reporter a bit more and increased the speed of his fingers as he picked the cuffs behind his back.

He didn't want to fight in this enclosed space. There were seven people here in this basement. Not even Batman could take out seven at once. There would be at least one witness to his agile moves that were "unlike a weakling President". This was without even mentioning how a reporter with superheroes as his main beat was tied up right next to him.

Clark Kent.

The man who, along with Lois Lane, had once monopolized all reporting on the Superman. In the past few years, with Lois moving toward editorials, Kent had virtually become Superman's designated liaison to the news media. "Hey, what makes you favor that reporter so much, Supes?" the Flash had once asked him.

"......I guess maybe because he's always the first on the scene." Superman had shrugged, seemingly not much interested in the topic. "You wouldn't believe how fast a newshound can move when he's on the scent."

Bruce had read Kent's articles, while gathering information about his super-coworker from various avenues. In fact, you only had to read them thoughtfully, and you would discover that the reason Superman admired him was perfectly obvious: Unlike those articles that piled superlatives on Superman, spending acres of ink describing how dashing he was as he arrived on the scene to save the world, this man's writing was straightforward yet with an incisive point of view. The standard Wall Street style outlines described Superman's recent movements, the whole picture of events, and finally elucidated connections to society or politics, making calls for all manner of reforms. "What if Superman hadn't appeared just in time?" Compared to a Superman superfan, the Kent in those articles was more like a neutral party who was full of skepticism for Superman. You might put it as, "Yes, he saved this small collection of people, but what about those other people who are equally exposed to danger and just haven't had quite bad enough luck to fall today?"

Right now, it was precisely a scenario of "Superman didn't appear in time," Bruce thought. He couldn't let this reporter die here, whether out of consideration for Batman's responsibilities or his feelings of obligation toward Superman as his coworker. If, before Robin arrived, the situation worsened to a point where he would be forced into action......

The head kidnapper yanked Kent up by his collar.

With no outward indication, Bruce's right hand had regained its freedom of movement.

Then, the man spoke.

"Don't-- Don't be like this." He flushed and shrank his neck down, stuttering as if he hadn't the first idea how to even talk. "I'm just a working stiff, uh, sir." His trembling voice was filled with submissiveness. "I didn't interfere with you on purpose. It's just that I'd scheduled an exclusive interview with Mr. Wayne. If I don't send in my article tomorrow, Chief Perry will kill me! He's my editor-in-chief. I-- I'm just trying to make a living......"

"'Just trying to make a living'." The kidnapper spoke in a high voice to mimic him. For a moment, Bruce was worried that the kidnapper would beat him, or something much worse. His body had tensed-- but the next second, the big oaf had been tossed back to the ground. The basement floor panels shuddered slightly from it. "What an embarrassment. Are all Metropolis folks as useless as you? Is Superman like you, too, looks all big and heavy, but nothing to back it up except a few showy tricks?"

"I've always said all of Metropolis is made up of wimpy nancies." Another kidnapper spoke up in agreement. "What full man would wear those fancy, bright colors? Black is a real man's fashion."

The reporter sprawled on the ground stayed silent, hiding his head. His huge frame was piteously curled up inside of his giant suit jacket. It made him look entirely, contemptibly invisible. Even a thug who'd murder you as soon as look at you would deem it a waste of bullets to kill this guy. The kidnappers, at last tired of this, abandoned him and went upstairs, leaving only two kidnappers in the room as guards.

While estimating the two's fields of view, Bruce crouched and kneed his way carefully across the ground. The big guy was still sprawled with his face down, but as soon as he neared him, he lifted his head again.

"Hey." The man laughed quietly at him. "Are you injured?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Kent," Bruce said severely, "You should take a clear look at the situation. Of the two of us, you're the one lying on the floor."

"And if we consider this whole kidnapping venture, you're the one who was the planned target." Kent answered him patiently. He had finally struggled to a seated position, his glasses hanging crookedly on his nose, rumpled and roughed up. Only that pair of eyes behind those lenses seemed to shine with sincerity.

"Don't worry." Kent attempted to comfort him. "You could say I have quite a bit of experience with kidnapping cases. When Lois and I...... When I was investigating certain events with my partner, they could have happened with the regularity of about once a month."

"......I thought Metropolis was safer than that." After ascertaining that he could sit up properly, he immediately backed away a bit, stopping carefully at a distance that wasn't too intimate yet also couldn't be considered distant. It was a distance where, if anything were to happen suddenly, he would be able to shield this guy -- Superman's contact person.

He wasn't sure what kind of attitude he should be displaying in front of Kent. As the friend of his coworker, he could show him a little more warmth, or even play some flirtatious Brucie kind of games. At the same time, however, Bruce felt displeased by a niggling feeling of familiarity.

He didn't like how this guy, after being humiliated, picked himself up like an idiot and, as a first reflex, expressed concern for the wellbeing of someone else. He didn't like this Metropolis attitude of placing others before yourself. If this guy were only more Gotham -- whether jumping up and down in fury, cowering like a mouse, sobbing uncontrollably, _anything_ \-- if he were less like a certain bumpkin who was good-hearted to the point of utter foolishness, never thinking for a moment of protecting himself first, he'd feel much more comfortable.

***

"B, how are you holding up?" He still remembered how that man looked, shielding him, the dark red cape flapping amidst the bullet- and smoke-filled warzone, like a startling and eye-catching wound, or like a waving, rage-inciting flag.

Light shone from behind him, just like the halos around saints in those religious works, like a flashing layer of gold thread.

He was certainly doing the things that saints did: spreading compassion, saving souls, showing unceasing attention to others. Now, he held out his hand, held out his hand to Batman, who was hiding behind his own tattered body.

Batman stared at him, for only a second, a single second that was more than enough for him to burn this moment, this scene into his memory.

And then-- he pushed him away. Just like countless times before, he was stubborn and filled with fury. "You shouldn't be here." He tried his best not to sound like he was criticizing. "You should be taking care of the hostiles on the east front."

"......B."

"You're the center of this plan." He had already stood, without need of Superman's help. With a swipe of his arm, he wiped his jaw, which was nearly numb. There was blood, not much. He hoped the wound wasn't too serious, because his jaw wasn't a body part he could cover with a shirt. "You need to keep yourself protected. If you were to lose your mobility, this whole action would be pointless."

"I just wanted to help. Those bullets......"

"You can't know if any of them have kryptonite. There was intel that Vandal has refined some mineral from the meteorite. We mentioned that in the pre-mission briefing." He should maybe thank Superman. He should thank Superman. But in fact, he was cold, unbending, and severe. "You're not needed here. Go back to your place, Superman!"

He couldn't explain why he was always fighting with Superman, if not actually fighting then on the way there. Even though, as founding members of the Justice League, they had started working together before any of the others. At times, things weren't bad between them, and they could even banter a bit during battles, but things always ended with them fighting. It was such that, one time, at the end of a mission, Superman said to him, "I have to memorialize today as a special day between the two of us. By Rao, this is the first time we've spent an entire six hours together without a single fight."

(And then they started fighting again, who knew about what. Afterwards, Superman sent him a photo of himself saving a cat in a tree. He captioned it, a little black cat baring its teeth at the hand that Superman held out to it: Just like you.

"Don't send these kinds of things on the work channel, Superman. Keep the comms clean."

"Hey, when you contacted me before this, you never said anything of the sort!"

Three minutes later, they were embroiled in another fight. Batman shouldn't feel surprised by any of this anymore.)

***

And now, that same displeasure was dogging Bruce. Bruce couldn't help but wonder darkly if he just didn't get along with Metropolis personalities.

"There aren't going to be any red underwear-wearing heroes appearing out of nowhere to save you here." Bruce controlled his stiff tone. "I'm guessing that's why nobody likes Gotham."

"But you have Batman," Kent said, his voice betraying a hidden blaze of fire. "That's enough."

......Oh.

"You aren't one of those people who think Batman is better than Superman, are you?" After a few seconds, Bruce couldn't resist adding, "Even a fool would know......"  
  


"Batman is the best," Kent said.

"......" Bruce stared at Kent. "No, I don't think so."

"You can't ignore objective reality just because you like Superman." Kent argued with him, "Without a doubt, Batman is better than Superman."

Bruce had been insulted. "I don't _like_ Superman."

"You said so on television."

"......not to the point of ignoring objective reality."

"So you admit that you like him."

If it weren't for the fact that Bruce remembered how Kent had tried to protect him in the middle of a kidnapping, he would have started hating Clark Kent. "That doesn't have anything to do with the matter."

"Whatever." Kent shrugged. "But you can't deny that Batman is better."

"Superman is invulnerable."

"Batman is a genius."

"You mean Batman is like Lex Luthor."

"Mr. Wayne, if this continues, I'm going to hate you."

"Superman is the leader of the Justice League."

"And Batman is the one who comes up with the vast majority of their strategies-- Superman told me so himself."

"If Superman weren't there to execute the plans, I doubt Batman could do much of anything."

"And without Batman's plans and the League, the whole League would just be lone specks of sand, each fighting their own battles."

"......I'm sure that the vast majority of people wouldn't like having someone like Batman leading them." Honestly, what were they fighting about? Why wasn't Dick here yet? "Superman is a _symbol_ that unites everyone."

"So, Superman leads the Justice League, and Batman directs Superman," Kent answered fiercely. "I'm not going to allow you to slander Batman like this."

Oh, then what was Alfred, the one who drove Batman to go to bed on time? The stage master behind the scenes of the Justice League?

Bruce Wayne squinted his ice cold eyes. "You're from Metropolis."

"And you're from Gotham."

"Not every Gothamite likes Batman, Mr. Kent. I suggest you take a few walks around the streets of Gotham."

"Come on." Kent said, "You should listen to what our editor-in-chief had to say when Superman wrecked the sculpture on the roof of The Planet. At least, Batman wouldn't collapse two buildings at once."

He _had_ , actually, although that had been an accident. "The Justice League will pay for him."

"You mean, you will pick up the tab," Kent corrected him. "You haven't been coming at this from the right place from the start."

"I'm not picking up the tab for just Superman himself. At any rate, you're Superman's media liaison." Bruce felt they shouldn't be arguing here right now, but for whatever unknown reason, they'd already started. "Think of Superman."

"According to the rumors, you and Batman are pretty intimate. Think of Batman."

Fuck. "Are you the editor of the entertainment section, Mr. Kent?"

"I'm in the politics section." Kent puffed out his chest, and when he did so, his form all at once became much bigger. Bruce wished he could keep this attitude when facing other situations besides defending Batman. "But if, as the financial supporter, you have a unique perspective of the Justice League leader and consultant, this has everything to do with me."

"Big Daddy Bruce has survived this long by _not_ sticking his nose into other people's windows, Kent. Don't go digging into business that doesn't concern you."

He could hear a roaring sound from far way. Dick was possibly already on the move, while he...?

He was still in the basement, having a ridiculous fight with this reporter, Clark Kent.

"One of my jobs _is_ exactly to go running around under other people's windows." Kent said, seriously, "Just because I've been captured with you right now doesn't mean that I'll go easy on you when you're in my net."

"So how are you planning to report on our conversation?" He hadn't even slandered Batman.

(Of course, for god's sake, he wouldn't slander himself for the likes of _Superman_.)

Perhaps he had finally realized how absurd their dialogue had been, because the reporter took a deep breath. As he did this, the two guards were coming to understand that the ruckus from outside wasn't the sound of cheers from receiving a ransom but was the more urgent sound of danger. They both picked up their guns, Bruce noticed.

(Although his eyes were still locked onto Kent, and Kent, no slouch, was staring straight back at him.)

When the door to the basement was kicked open with an expeditious burst, Bruce was ready. He was ready at any moment to push this big oaf aside, in case he were to be injured by a stray bullet. However, to his surprise, the big oaf in question seemed to have the same plan.

Honestly, they both looked like absolute idiots as they angled their bodies at each other at the same time, as if they had been fighting and fighting until they'd fought themselves to an intense mutual stare that they would escalate to a kiss in the next moment.

(When big 'n' tall said he had quite a lot of experience, he probably hadn't been lying, but that didn't mean that Bruce would happily play the part of the Lois Lane-in-distress in this story.)

A smoke grenade rolled inside with a clatter......

Ten minutes later, Robin had merrily released their shackles. Although, due to outsiders being present, he couldn't say it straight out, the whole of Dick's body was emanating a happy halo of, "I did it, I did it, hurry up and commend me".

"I never thought I'd have the chance to rescue you," Robin said smugly, as he pretended to help Bruce open the cuffs that he'd released a long time ago. "You should be more careful, okay?"

And when Kent wasn't looking, Batman gave Robin a caustic glare. His fight with Kent had been absolutely idiotic, and the person most responsible here was the one who had taken two hours to find the two of them -- Dick.

("I beg you, Bruce!" A few hours later, Robin shrieked at him, "I can't possibly knock out this much homework. I _want_ to go on patrol."

"When you bring back six As on your exams from school, then we can talk." Batman coldly put on his cowl.

He was the cold-blooded, ruthless Batman, and the cold-blooded, ruthless Batman _never_ retaliated out of revenge.)

"Just one more thing." Once the paperwork was done and the two of them had made their farewells at the doorway of the police station, the Metropolis reporter, after walking a few steps away, suddenly turned and came back.

"I can't think of any more that can possibly be said between _us_ , Mr. Kent." Bruce was suddenly filled with interest in fiddling with his own tie.

"Batman," Kent spoke up.

Bruce's fingers nearly stopped, but he controlled himself.

"--is the best among all people," he declared with steel-piercing confidence. Without even waiting for Bruce's reply, he marched away from him.

This left Bruce alone in his place. He fiddled with his tie for a while longer, until Alfred had lowered the car window, the corner of his mouth raised in a thread of a smile.

Of course, he thought, with a smugness that he wouldn't admit to.

Kent had completely forgotten about the exclusive he had scheduled with Bruce. And Bruce......

......was not about to remind him.


	5. Chapter 5

When Superman finally decided to come bother him, he had already been fully focused on building the Watchtower model for three hours. In consideration of their work responsibilities, a League base seated on a near Earth orbit could better answer the issue of "League bias" that the various world leaders worried about. Once it'd been decided to allocate an enormous budget to this enterprise, it became Batman's job to make it stable and steady, and to perfectly display the image it was supposed to. Should he design it to be open, to show the concept of how it was always faced toward the world and the determination with which it was guarding Earth? Or should he add stronger alloys to the two sides to counteract any attacks from outer space? Practicality had to be the top priority, of course, but, for heaven's sake, the batarangs that were sold secretly all over Gotham were shaped like bats, and was that due to practicality?

He... could have some interests. What he meant was, just like how Aquaman liked to talk to fish, and Wonder Woman could get so excited that she almost sold a contract to the epitome of capitalism, DQ ice cream, Batman could also have some requirements regarding aesthetics, a cool factor, and how good it goddamned looked. Just like there was no intrinsic difference in value between a suit turned out from the Wayne family's exclusive tailor that cost tens of thousands of dollars, and a bespoke Armani suit that cost only a few thousand, but Bruce Wayne always preferred his own family's tailor. That was _his_ tailor, you understand? _His_.

Right. Exactly. This was probably the source of the problem, why, when he was designing the Watchtower, he showed a bit more enthusiasm than strictly necessary for his job requirements. But think about it honestly, who didn't like mechas and space and the Gundam franchise? This may be a hard currency even stronger than Superman. Men liked it, women liked it, and even organisms who weren't human would goddamn like it. If you weren't crazy about Gundam, your neural pathways must be broken. No one could resist a giant fighting robot, and no one could resist a Watchtower floating in space. And right now, putting together the model of the Watchtower, ascertaining where more space should be made, where they could be narrowed, and all manner of little details that he needed to make sure of personally -- all this made Bruce's customarily steady heartbeat speed up. He even recalled how when he was little, his father, no matter how busy his work got, would make time for one afternoon every weekend to spend with Bruce, putting together the model ships that he liked. The _USS Enterprise_ that they had finished together, and the _Millennium Falcon_ that he and Dick had finished together, were placed in the Manor's display room. ("What are you thinking about?" "I was thinking, the _Millennium Falcon_ is definitely cooler." "......Dick, go do your homework.")

Batman performed his own maintenance on his Batmobile, and Batman had watched over the building of his Batwing. All of Batman's equipment had to be the very apex of what humankind could accomplish. Naturally, this included the Watchtower -- _his_ Watchtower.

So, that afternoon, his mood was relaxed and happy for once, the part of his personality that was closer to Brucie shifting eagerly underneath the armor of the Batman. If he couldn't resist humming while he painted the part that he had already confirmed was without fault, that couldn't be Bruce's fault.

 _His_ Watchtower.

And just as he was cheerfully and contentedly starting to dock the Watchtower's left wing with the already completed left side, a line of red light flashed by the corner of his eye. Not even needing to waste much thought about it, his fingers had already grabbed that cape.

Superman, having been grabbed by him, was just like a human-shaped balloon whose string had been grabbed. He landed gracefully, landed beside Bruce in the seat that he ought to occupy.

"Your way of greeting people is becoming more and more ingenious," Superman determined.

Perhaps he should reply with a "I wasn't greeting you." After all, that would fit the persona of the Batman who chased Superman away from his territory every night. Today, however, his mood was indeed good. In fact, it might be too good. So he only grunted once, and kept his focus on securing the wall panels to the places where they should be.

This was the entire east side of the Watchtower. There, aside from the training rooms and lounge area, there was also a small kitchen, and other rooms made more for comfort and living. He still wasn't sure if this area needed some other entertainment besides a couch in the lounge. That would, without question, crowd into the square area apportioned to the kitchen. And Bruce wanted everything to be perfect.

This was also the reason he had dragged Superman to a stop. He wanted to hear Superman's opinion. But after working for a while, Superman had yet to make a sound, causing Batman to have to lift his head to see what kind of problem Superman was experiencing.

He didn't look like he was experiencing any problems at all. In fact, he was only staring, watching Bruce intently.

"......What are you thinking about?" Batman, vigilant in that moment, asked.

"What do you mean, what am I thinking about?" Superman looked as if he were wounded. "I can't stare at you for no reason?"

Any normal person wouldn't stare at someone else for no reason, as if he didn't have anything better to do. Batman wanted to answer, Anyway, Kal-El, you think _you_ can fool me?

He didn't know how to describe Superman's absurdity when he was like this. In some ways, Superman was really somewhat like Wayne's family stock options: though always surprising in the details, but in the end, it was like an old friend that he'd been watching for five years. President Wayne had only to glance at his stock's first hour trends during breakfast, and he could more or less predict whether the day would be a rise or a fall. It was that kind of intimacy. In the same way, he didn't need to use much brain power, only to take a quick look at Superman's face as he came in the door, to guess whether Superman had caused trouble, or was about to cause trouble.

"I'm not always causing trouble, you know," Superman had once told him, trying his best to stay calm.

"Then what should I be calling this situation here?" His four limbs tightly entangled by the alien creature's tentacles, and striving to break a fifth tentacle that was trying to twist him to death, Batman answered, "just an alien, standing in front of another alien, asking him to strangle your teammate?"

Afterwards, Superman tried to clarify himself to Batman. Even if he had made a few mistakes, he wouldn't purposely squeeze himself, 'slick', 'tentacles', and 'panting' into one sentence. He was a _rated G_ kind of hero.

"A rated G hero wouldn't wear one's underwear on the outside, and he wouldn't wear skintight clothing, aside from the Flash." Coldly, Batman replied, "Now, why don't you explain how you managed to wake an alien organism that had been sleeping for many years, just by passing by?"

And now, Superman's face nearly had a waving sign on it that said, "I might give you a pleasant surprise, and it will probably only be a surprise and not pleasant."

This made Batman put down the glue brush. Generally, Superman very rarely was able to predict when he would cause trouble. If even he knew himself that there was about to be trouble, then, "Your home planet has sent another Doomsday."

"What? No! Why!" Superman shouted, "Could you not say these things every time you open your mouth? It's kind of creepy."

"Darkseid send a motherbox."

"It's nothing to do with that."

"Toyman hacked into Cyborg's systems."

"They do link up to play over Xbox, but I think Cyborg is safe."

"Luthor's found five hundred kilos of kryptonite."

"......No." Superman said, "You prioritized Luthor finding kryptonite after Cyborg? Also, can't you be just a little more optimistic? How come every time I come looking for you, you always have the attitude of, oh, what idiocy have you done now? It's very hurtful."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"......"

"......"

"All right." Superman quickly said, "It's Bruce Wayne. I...... haven't seen him in a few days."

......Oh.

Already having started to stand, Batman sat back down. At the least, he could be certain that Superman hadn't done Bruce Wayne in when he wasn't paying attention, or been done in by Bruce Wayne, so that he would have to work overtime and burn the midnight oil -- throw his model aside and go into work overtime. He picked up the brush he'd thrown on the table, and as he was about to dip it into the glue again, Superman's hand, holding the glue bottle, appeared by his hand at just the right time.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"He's funding the Justice League." Superman said, "And you're the one in charge of financial management. I thought you would have contact with each other."

"Only via the official financial channel. Do you need me to remind you that Luthor also wanted to offer 'financial contributions'? According to your logic, Luthor and I also have contact."

"But you're both in Gotham." Superman wasn't going to let this go, continuing, "Everyone thinks you're......" he snuck a look at Batman, "very...... close?"

Really? Bruce thought, Superman?

"Gotham has three million citizens, remember?" And so, he answered him, "That doesn't mean I have to be close to all three million of those people. The vast majority of people I cross paths with are thieves, johns, rats from the gutter, and villains who belong in hell. So, yes, what you're saying is correct," he said, "I do know Bruce Wayne. He and I are close."

He lifted his head, and Superman was staring at him like before.

"Why are you looking for him?" He was tired of this. "Haven't you been bothered enough by the gossip around you?"

"I just want to ask how he is," Superman said. He had a pair of very bright eyes, sunlight flowing through them, coruscating with gentle luster. "I found out about how he'd been kidnapped, and now he's been refusing all visitors for three days straight."

"He's nothing but a spendthrift dilletante, a playboy," Bruce said steadily, "not even willing to display the most specious bit of bravery. He's probably been terrified and is hiding in that Manor built of gold and silver bricks, trembling. Don't be fooled by the outer packaging created by public relations personnel. I don't know why you're concerned about him, Superman, but as your co-worker, I'm advising you, leave him alone."

"Just like you warn me to leave your Gotham."

"Just like I warn you to leave my Gotham." Batman answered in agreement.

This caused them both to fall into silence for a little while. Without him needing to say anything, Superman handed him the parts he needed. Their movements were complementary, and the understanding between them was at high efficiency. He again let himself sink into the design of the Watchtower, trying to wipe away the incidence of Superman having interest in Bruce Wayne.

However, Superman-- Of course, he was Superman, who wouldn't correct course unless he rammed into a wall that he should have already known was there, who always behaved like a child taking its very first stride, no matter how many times he fell, he never gave up, only fell again and again, got up, fell down, got up, until he finally attained what he wanted. And then he would run, every step completely steady on the ground.

Superman had told him once, he hadn't had his superpowers from the start. That, plus how familiar he was with everyday human objects and his wording when he was joking around, made Bruce suspect that he had a fake identity as a human. And supposing that Superman pretended to be a human, he would probably be suited for one of those jobs for obstinately persistent people. For instance, a detective, or a reporter.

No, not a detective, Bruce rejected this thought. He wasn't clever enough to be a detective yet. Anyway, being coworkers with Superman in one field of work was already enough to make his head hurt. He didn't need that doubled.

In summary, Superman was a stubborn person, and this was why he was going to keep talking.

"I don't know why you have such a fierce attitude against him." Gently, he said, "After all, it's because of him that we'll have the Watchtower. _Our_ Watchtower."

"Heroes think about justice, and bosses think about tax shelters. Public welfare is the top of the financial sector's best methods of avoiding taxes......"

"But he still invested the money." Superman began laughing. The curl on his head hung down, making him look truly idiotic. "Anyway, the League has the best auditor in the world. You wouldn't give him any chance to use this to commit tax fraud or evade taxes, right?"

If I really were the best auditor in the world, then I would be huddled in one of The Big Four accounting firms, awaiting sudden death. Everyone knew the auditors in The Big Four was a job description that had a death rate many times higher than that of superheroes. This made Batman take a deep breath. Maybe this was Superman's problem: he always thought too well of people, and Batman always thought too poorly of people. "What if I told you that I allowed the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to use the League to evade taxes as he wished," he answered, at last. "Would you stop trusting people so easily next time?"

(This was entirely legal, though. Lucius was right, and Wayne Enterprises's money didn't exactly come falling from the sky. And if they were to follow the law in every detail, then Batman would never have been born to start with.)

He had thought Superman would be shaken by this. After all, this was the difference between those who came from Metropolis and those who came from Gotham. Metropolis was vibrant, heroically brave, but would often be shocked by the muddy, dirty, shallow emptiness of its sister city. He had finished putting together _their_ kitchen, right beside the lounge. If Flash were hungry, he wouldn't even need two seconds to empty out the refrigerator in a single whirl.

But a part of him, a certain part, was keeping its attention on Superman's answer. He didn't notice until Superman had actually started to speak.

"Then," Superman watched him calmly, "I believe that you have your reasons."

Lithely, he got up, not forgetting to replace the chair neatly in its original place before he left. "I still want to meet him. He hasn't appeared in the media for three days. I'd like to express my concern...... and, B?" Before crossing the doorway, he suddenly turned back.

"......" Batman was silent, silent until he realized, if he didn't reply, Superman could remain standing there until the world ended.

"What?" he therefore demanded gruffly.

"The gossip around me doesn't actually bother me." Superman laughed with his deep blue eyes, the sound as strong and clear as the first time they had met. "The League doesn't need to do public relations for my personal life."

Then, he left.

Leaving behind Batman and his model, and Bruce's belly full of anger.

  



	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, my dear god." Hearing the grinding noise, Alfred hurriedly barged his way in. "Master Bruce, would you please let go of the poor coffee machine? You cannot operate it without first adding water, and also, the coffee beans need to be ground before putting them into the machine. Heavens, please sit back down."

Bruce obediently returned to beside the dining table, crossing his arms, and he watched as Alfred, displaying a rare bout of fluster, began to unplug the coffee machine. A cloud of black smoke emerged from inside, and a few seconds later, the whole room was densely filled with the horrible smell of metallic powder.

Alfred spent some time looking over this modern coffee machine that had serviced Wayne Manor for three years. Bruce didn't know what the results of this inspection were, and he didn't ask. When Alfred raised his head to look at him, he hid his own face behind his mug filled with hot water.

"So, then, what was it that gave you a sudden whim to so abuse a poor coffee machine, Master Bruce?"

"......."

For a brief moment, he didn't want to answer him. He didn't even really want to speak. Alfred was watching him worriedly, this elderly man who had cared for him since he was eight years old.

Each of the many times when Bruce skipped school, when the school would have to contact the Manor, the Alfred who came to pick him up, who helped him carry his luggage, he had exactly this expression he saw now. At the time, he had reached out his hand to Bruce, wanting to hold the lone and lonely young master like before. However, like any boy of that age, irritated and restless, immersed in his own thoughts, Bruce hadn't taken note of it. And so, Alfred's hand had been quietly retracted.

He had never asked Bruce questions that he didn't want to answer. However, many times, even though he didn't ask, Bruce suspected that he knew.

Alfred always knew.

"I had a dream." His words shot out, as if they might disappear into thin air before they were heard. "My Father...... and Mother."

"......Oh," Alfred answered.

"It was right-- right in this room." Bruce gestured around. "Everyone was seated around the dining table. Mother insisted that you bring out that red-checkered tablecloth. She even poured a cup of hot cocoa for me. And Father was just like he always was......"

"Sitting at the table, reading the Society section of the _Gotham Gazette_. Yes, Master Bruce."

He didn't know why, but Alfred's addition made the corners of Bruce's mouth rise in a small smile. He recalled what had happened here in this room, every minute and every second. "And then, I saw you. You, and Dick. He was sitting to Father's right, a seat between them, and secretively flipping broccoli into Ace's food bowl......"

"This explains why Master Grayson never grows taller."

"You give him a double portion of milk."

"If you would be willing to put the coffee down, I could give you a double portion of milk as well," Alfred countered calmly.

This caused Bruce to fall silent for another while. Outside the windows, rain sluiced down, impacting the glass walls of the dining room's west side.

In his dream, it'd also been raining, and he'd been holding the cup of hot cocoa that his Mother had given him. The rich aroma bloomed on the tip of his tongue. An all-encompassing heat emanated from his stomach, warming his entire body.

His family was here, his important family members, he had thought. Every one.

And just at that moment, from the glass doors behind him came a _tap tap_ sound.

He tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that the sound had never existed. However, the person knocking on the window had a willful stubbornness, continuing until Bruce noticed that he didn't need an alarm clock. Just this tapping sound would be more than enough to wake him from his dream.

This was why he turned his head to glare out the window, at the person who was being soaked by the rain, even that styled tuft of a curl dripping and hanging on his head -- Kal-El.

Superman was standing outside his dining room door, trying as best he could to squeeze himself under the narrow eaves, and plastered against the glass, watching him dolefully.

He glared at Superman, glared for a long time, until Superman uncomfortably shifted his position. Only then did he grudgingly open the glass door for him.

"What are you doing here?" Scowling, he complained the second he opened the door. "This is a family gathering."

This caused the soaked Superman to flush entirely red. "Bruce, be reasonable. This is your dreamscape."

"Yes, this is my dreamscape," Bruce said. "So, why would you come here? Are there not enough cats in Metropolis for you to save anymore?"

"It's not that I can't go save them," Superman babbled. His face had been flushed with anger, how interesting. He rarely saw Superman show emotions other than forgiving, forthrightness, and determination. "But you'd have to dream up Metropolis first. I can't go save kittens in a place that you don't know about."

So, Bruce exerted himself for a moment. He tried to exert himself for a moment.

"I can't." He said, "This is too much effort. Do you have to go to Metropolis to save kittens?"

"Gotham is fine, too, as long as you aren't always driving me away."

This was much easier. A few seconds later, they heard the sound of a kitten mewing from a tree in the yard.

Superman nodded. Bruce was just about to close the door in satisfaction, when he found that Superman had returned to the doorway.

In his arms was cradled a soaked little kitten.

"I'm done." Superman said, "Now what?"

"......Go find other kittens."

"You're being unreasonable again," Superman criticized him. "You have to dream up the cats before I can look for them. You don't have enough imagination."

He'd never dreamed that he would be judged in a dream by Superman for not having enough imagination, Bruce thought dryly. "So, you need a kitty tree?" he said.

He was glad Superman didn't ask him what a kitty tree was. This was the good thing about a dream. Once he defined something, everyone would accept it just like the length of a kilometer.

A tree so tall that it brushed the clouds appeared behind them, except every leaf was a desolately meowing kitten.

Superman stared at him for a while, his expression saying, "How could you do this", but Bruce, uncaring, crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"You've never been like this before." Already starting to save the kittens, Superman mumbled as he carried the kittens down. "I think you're much more reasonable in the real world."

"Sorry for disappointing you-- Could you not put the cats in my yard? I don't want to find three layers of kittens piled up on my lawn in ten minutes." Or, to be drowned by tribbles.

One ball of fur tumbled to a stop by his feet. Mewing, it rubbed its head against Bruce's ankle.

For a brief moment, Bruce thought of being touched by the Penguin, but before this nightmare could become reality, he stuffed the thought back.

"You always think of me as a big bother." While placing down ever more cats, Superman muttered complaints to Bruce. "But heaven knows, all I want is to make our relationship better."

"......Kal." Bruce took a deep breath.

This was only a dream, he told himself.

He could be a little honest to Superman.

"I've never thought you were a bother." And then, Bruce told him with sincerity. "I just can't figure out why bother always seems to come to you."

***

Originally, he had wanted to tell him, he had always thought of Superman as an exemplary teammate. If he could, he might even want to thank him. He was very glad that Superman had been willing to start the Justice League with him -- the Justice League, a place that could check and balance Bruce and not let him get out of line. There were many more things he would like to tell Superman.

When the words left his mouth, they didn't sound like the tone he'd originally meant. Superman rolled his eyes -- if he could produce an expression like that so smoothly in this dream, Bruce didn't think Superman had the right to criticize him for not having enough imagination -- and he continued to pick kittens. Bruce stared for a while without expression, before returning to the dining room.

He chatted with Father for a while, mostly insignificant nothings, but talking didn't have to have any purpose. They chatted about Wayne Enterprises, his vigilante life, whether Dick should go to Princeton or MIT in the future. Mother, meanwhile, was busy talking to Dick. He didn't really want to know what the two of them were discussing about him behind his back. Anyway, he only had to notice Dick glancing at Bruce now and then and snickering to know that Mother was surely telling him about embarrassing moments from his childhood.

Superman at last saved all the kittens, and he came inside after all. Alfred handed him a towel. As he wiped his head, he pulled out the chair beside Bruce.

"Is there anything else you want me to go save, Master Wayne?" the Kal-El in his dream said, sarcastically. In his eyes, a bit of warmth showed through the dazzling blue. "If not, could you get me a cup of something hot to drink? You know, even Superman wants a bit of something warm after a day like this."

"Hot milk?" Unruffled, he glanced at the bottle of milk behind Dick.

Alfred went out to fetch more towels, so Bruce stood, himself, to pour that cup of something hot that Superman wanted. As he watched the pearl-white liquid slide into the small ceramic cup, he thought of some inappropriate things. After rubbing the bridge of his nose to focus himself, he noticed again that Superman's ceramic cup had unexpectedly sprouted a knitted cover. This coarse farm-spun yarn formed the shape of a large bat edged in gold. There was one on Bruce's cup, too, with a colorful, bright S.

Even though neither Martha nor Alfred knit as a hobby...... Even though this was a dream, Bruce wanted to criticize this point as illogical.

It was only once he'd filled up the milk that a certain question suddenly drilled into Bruce's head.

When had Superman discovered that he was Batman?

A sudden shock, and then Bruce found himself staring at his own bedroom ceiling.

"......"

***

Now, he leaned against a dining room chair. Alfred, without asking his opinion, made him a hot cocoa. If a plate of thick cookies hadn't appeared alongside, Bruce would definitely have raised a solemn protest against this. But now, with Alfred having gone to take care of Ace, Bruce was left all alone again in the huge dining room.

He thought he was being rather melancholy, even though he couldn't pinpoint which part of the dream had caused this reaction. But in any case, today, Batman felt a bit of un-Batman-like sadness.

This stew of feeling brewed, until the phone extension in the dining room rang.

Answering the phone was Alfred's job, but Alfred was looking after the dog, and Master Wayne occasionally had the leisure to take the initiative to help out. For instance, now, after he'd stuffed the last cookie in his mouth, he scooped up the black telephone receiver with fingers dusted in crumbs.

"Wayne Manor. Can I help you?"

There was a momentary clamor of noise from the other end, then a disbelieving voice. "......Bruce? I mean, Mr. Wayne?"

He couldn't help but smile at the flustered panic from the other person, although he remained unruffled. "Mr. Kent." He had recognized that voice. "How did you get a hold of this number? I recall that the one I left The Planet was my office extension." The office secretary's extension.

"Uh...... I'm not going to tell you how I got it." A while of silence, and Bruce calculated whether he should sue this reporter as a stalker. "All right, it was Lois." Never mind. "A long time ago, when she scheduled an exclusive interview with you, you gave her the number to the Manor. Do you remember?"

Of course, Bruce recalled. Three and a half years ago, the lady reporter from Metropolis had insisted on uncovering the Gotham underground society. Worried that she might be ambushed and beaten, Bruce had given her his own home phone number. That had also been the opportunity where he'd met Superman.

Ms. Lane was a wise woman. He'd believed that she wouldn't leak this number carelessly, and evidence had borne this out, until now.

"Uh, actually, I just wanted to ask how you were......"

"You just wanted to ask how I was?" Bruce repeated.

"Ah, and also the exclusive, of course. It's been a week since what we scheduled before. Mr. Perry said if I didn't file soon, he'd skin me. We've made a Justice League special issue, did you know? Your interview is slated for the eighth spread."

"Only the eighth spread?" Bruce teased him.

"Uh, before that is Superman's exclusive interview, Wonder Woman's exclusive -- those are Lois's. The Flash and Green Lantern take up one spread......" He heard the sound of a notebook page turning. "The second spread is blank for now, but I think you'll still be on the eighth."

"Hm......" Bruce purposely drew out the sound, using his playboy tone. Distractedly, he plucked up a grape from the fruit bowl.

Bruce hadn't appeared in any society events for a week. "Master Wayne has had a bad fright. He needs time to recover." No matter who called, Alfred had used the same excuse to fend them off. However, he had agreed to an invitation from Batman to a tour of Mount Justice in three days, extended to all League financial contributors.

(Superman had only said that he wanted to find an opportunity to ask after Bruce, as their financial contributor, Bruce thought, staring blankly at the grape. Therefore, it was very logical for Batman to invite all financial contributors.

He wouldn't allow Superman and Bruce to be in a room together for too long, even if this meant that he was inviting himself, asking after himself.)

Kent, on the other end of the line, was still waiting for his answer.

An exclusive interview. He didn't want to agree to this exclusive interview. In recent years, he'd grown gradually tired of acting as Brucie. What had originally been a mask he'd put on with ease, after having been worn for a long time, had become the source of a quandary: How far did he need to go in each situation to be appropriate? Brucie would also mature. He couldn't possibly remain completely unchanged in five years. But at the same time, Batman's work took up his energy and his time.

Of course, he could refuse the interview. In the end, what did it matter to Bruce whether Kent got skinned by his editor-in-chief or not? Moreover, Kent had seen Brucie when he'd been kidnapped, and when Bruce thought back to it afterwards, his performance at the time hadn't exactly been one of an ignoramus. So, this would make pretending to be Brucie even more difficult.

Kent was still waiting.

But to be honest, he didn't have any plans for this afternoon. The model of the Watchtower had been handed over to Lucius. It was much too early to start patrol. He didn't want to start drinking at three in the afternoon.

He dithered for a while between working out in the gym and Kent, dithered until Alfred had returned. The elderly butler, mouthing the question silently, asked the Master if he'd like another cup of coffee.

This made Bruce laugh, helpless to stop it.

"If you can get to Wayne Manor before three-thirty." Drawling the words, he said, lazily, "It's not like I can't give you one chance. Where are you right now? Metropolis?"

"I'm right in Gotham." Kent, on the other end, seemed to be so excited he'd nearly bitten his tongue. "I'm investigating another...... I'll be there shortly. Please wait for me, no matter what."

He was in Gotham! Bruce was a little disappointed.

"......Also, Mr. Wayne." Just as he was about to hang up, he heard a small, careful voice from the receiver. "Are you okay?"

It was this question that caused Bruce to fall into an unbroken silence for two seconds.

He hung up the phone directly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks, thanks so much for reading along! Sorry, but real life is picking up, and the chapters are getting longer, so I have to slow down some. I'll still try to get a chapter out each week. Good news is, since the chapters are longer from here on out, you'll still get a good amount of story each week. Stay tuned for more! :)
> 
> Btw, CrimsonMapleLeaves reads English, so feel free to [hop on over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22583554/chapters/54451384) and leave her some comments as well. ;)

He had a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

"So, would you like a bit of something to drink?" He inquired, purposely casual, "Bourbon, gin, or brandy?"

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne, but coffee would be fine." The reporter put his bag down on the sofa. When Alfred asked him if he would need to have his suit jacket hung up, he shook his head in a rather cautious way. "I don't drink while on the job," he added to Bruce.

This upright young man doesn't drink while on the job, look!, look! Mr. Wayne, other serious people don't drink in the daytime, don't you have anything to say? Alfred looked as if he would like to immediately have this sentiment framed and hung on every wall of Wayne Manor. But even if he were to do that, Bruce would only pretend he didn't see it, so he merely nodded his head. "Wise decision. What would you like in it?"

"Give him some whisky," Bruce made a comical face, "classic Ireland style."

Nobody paid any attention to him. Terrific. He knew it. "Just some milk will be good," Kent said politely, "Thank you very much."

Following this, Alfred made Kent a solid, respectable latte, and once he'd finished, Kent displayed nervous agitation, perhaps unused to being served by someone of his parent's generation. In fact, it was after Alfred was sent away that he seemed much more at ease.

He was more relaxed facing Bruce Wayne. Bruce reflexively noted this thought, but his cerebrum was still unsure how to process it. When Kent took a pocket audio recorder and notebook from his bag, he allowed himself to slowly lean against the drawing room bar.

"Well then, Mr. Wayne, perhaps we can start out with some simpler questions?"

"Of course, why not?" Bruce showed off his most charismatic smile.

***

Kent's questions were mostly very uninteresting, just like the man himself, who persisted in ignoring Bruce's flirting: friendly, gentle, and overly solicitous in areas where that was quite unnecessary. However, some of his questions were incisive, even of an entirely different direction. He must have noticed that Bruce wasn't answering his questions with any sincere effort. (From your own perspective, what do you think the purpose of the Justice League is?" "I don't know, maybe to make photo collections of handsome men and beautiful women? I'm particularly appreciative of their requirement that members wear skintight clothing.") Therefore, after the first stage of feeling each other out, the questions he began popping became more detailed and more difficult to answer. ("Many people believe that the existence of superheroes in itself encourages crime. For instance, the irreconcilable relation between Superman and Mr. Luthor. What do you think of this?" "I've never thought about this in such detail before. Luthor is an interesting sweetheart, but Superman has a head of gorgeous hair, so in a beauty contest I would definitely have to vote for Superman-- Hey, what are they fighting about, anyway? Is it over me? No? Then what has this to do with me?")

Clark Kent. His dress was plain, his appearance average. This fellow could walk into a crowd of people and disappear. His large frame was useless; his presence felt anti-correlated to his height, microscopic, undetectable. That suit -- he couldn't have put on a suit vest underneath the jacket, that would be too old-fashioned, though it looked like he really had done it -- it was a suit that you could walk into any Macy's department store and buy, and it'd likely be one of those garbage suits that was perpetually half-price for quick sale yet was never asked after by any customers. He wasn't wearing a watch, and he didn't have any recognizably unique tattoo features. If Bruce had to pick him out of a large crowd afterwards, the only thing he could rely on was his memory of his looks. And speaking of this man's looks......

Without any outward reaction, Bruce downed a gulp of alcohol, to hide his unconscious frown.

This man's looks...... were actually not that bad. In fact, for just an instant, Bruce was a bit confused as to why he'd thought this man's face wasn't much to look at. The man's facial features unfolded neatly across a built-to-standard face, like a classical Greek statue. It had a feel of openness and firmness that a regular person couldn't imitate. His eyes were a sort of bright deep blue, and when he looked at someone, they unconsciously adopted a bit of an attitude of nobility and heroism. Those long, soft eyelashes, though, they subtly softened his whole face.

Even with the most critical eye, no one could say he was anything like ugly. Bruce even thought, if he would stand up a bit straighter, move a bit more decisively, more confidently, then he'd be another member of one of those young nobles hailing from wealthy families who wore neat, pretty, snow-white riding pants, with brown riding boots stepped jauntily in the stirrups. But just earlier, hadn't Bruce......

"Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne, are you listening?"

Startled, he froze for a moment. It was as if he'd suddenly woken from a dream. Some answer that had been on the verge of making itself known all of a sudden jumped back, and in contrast, reality invaded from all sides. The stimulus to his sense organs from color, smell, and sound all increased swiftly, creating a sense of alarming vertigo. In the midst of this moment of consternation, something silently slipped away from Bruce's grasp.

This made Bruce laugh again -- happy, giddy. He filled his cup to the brim with gin and took it with him towards Kent, like a cat carrying a sparrow in its mouth -- Kent watched him carefully, his gaze riveted on his body's every movement -- until at last, he sat beside Kent, placing his drink on the coffee table in front of them.

They were very close, their thighs tight against each other.

Kent didn't make a sound, but Bruce could feel Kent's tensed muscles under his suit. This made him put his hand on it, caressing softly. "Don't be so nervous." His voice was airy, sweet, just like that cup of latte that Kent had just drunk, lingering on the back of one's tongue. "What did you ask me just now?"

"......I asked," a swell rolled through Kent's throat, perhaps he had just swallowed some saliva, "how do you view the specific membership of the League members, Mr. Wayne?"

"Don't call me that," he laughed softly, his finger trailing along the suit's pants crease. "Call me Bruce."

Kent closed his eyes, and the man took a deep breath. The way his forehead creased slightly looked like Jesus enduring his sufferings. Despite this, however, he was still able to accurately grasp Bruce's hand.

He didn't wish Bruce to continue, of course, just like another side of him looked forward to Bruce continuing. Before this, Bruce had thought his own charms were having no effect on the man. He purposely let his fingers twist in Kent's hold, as if he were restless. The big guy's strength was much bigger than Bruce had estimated, so he let his fingers squeeze through the gaps in the other's hand and lightly tickled him.

"Do you have to......" Kent sighed, his voice, unlike his tightly tensed body, had somewhat of an air of helplessness, as if he had endured Bruce like this countless times before. "Do you have to tease me like this, sir?"

I never tease." Bruce chuckled, and his other hand took the opportunity to climb up Kent's arm. Without blinking, he stared at Kent's eyes -- rather, his glasses. "Call me Bruce."

"I hope you don't treat every reporter who comes to your house for an interview like this." Kent hesitated, and Bruce lightly pinched him. "Bruce," he muttered.

"Good boy." Bruce patted him lightly.

Quickly, Kent mumbled something, then he cleared his throat and started over. "Regarding the question from before, about the specific League members......"

"You have a pair of very beautiful blue eyes," Bruce continued. "Has anyone ever told you, they remind one of something?"

"Is that so?" Kent hurriedly glanced at his notebook, then lighted his gaze back on Bruce's face. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Oh, you know full well, I bet. I would think numerous people would say it to you." He let his thumb begin to caress Kent's thumb, let his voice sigh like an intoxicated worshipper. "You make one feel a sudden temptation."

Kent tilted his head, and now, he looked somewhat unlike that friendly, careful man from before. His expression -- which disappeared again in an instant -- made his face look a bit cold, but not like he was scorning someone, and also not a coldness that was unattractive.

"I have a feeling," Bruce murmured, taking the opportunity to shift close against Kent -- taking the opportunity of Kent's confusion about what Bruce's ultimate goal was. As if he meant to help him fix his clothes, one hand hooked onto Kent's tie, and at the same time, his other hand pulled free from Kent's hold. He put that hand on Kent's collar, feeling the pulse from his carotid artery. "Wouldn't you like it?" he said, low, watching Kent's eyes through his _lenses_ , "letting our relationship advance?"

Frozen, Kent watched him back. His pulse was around 60, a tad quicker than before but far from what a normal man should be feeling in this situation. Was it possible that he wasn't interested in men? But his tightly tensed voice betrayed him: "When you said that you liked Superman," he maintained a kind of purposeful coolness, "were you thinking something similar?"

His question made Bruce laugh softly. He had to admit, although it was strange, this question for some reason made him happy.

"Oh, how cute." He let the hand that was currently around Kent's tie take the opportunity to burrow under Kent's jacket. His suit vest didn't fit well. Bruce considered, what was the probability that you could walk into any Macy's and buy a suit that was two sizes bigger than a six-foot-three frame? "Are you jealous? Jealous of Superman?" He used his other hand to pat the man's cheek. "Don't be like that, honey. What I said then was all true -- there isn't anyone who wouldn't want to pull down a man like that from his shrine, grab him by his cape," the fingers clutching Kent's shoulder locked down firmly on that shoulderline, "drag him down, drag him to where he'd be where the common people like us are, " he was nearly turned all the way, half-kneeling on the sofa and leaning forward, "and see if that compelling voice of his is able to say anything of goodness then?"

Clark Kent's eyes stared at him. He didn't encircle Bruce's waist, and he didn't push him away in resistance. Bruce knew some men would detest being in a position like their current one, because Bruce, half-kneeling, was taller than Kent, and men didn't like being looked down on like this. However, Kent didn't seem to care about that at all. He didn't seem to care at all if he were being belittled, made to feel inferior or whatever. Contrary to that, he was studying Bruce's expression seriously.

Bruce wanted to know what Kent was reading from his own face. He wanted to know if, like Bruce could see secrets on his face, he could see Bruce's own secrets. No, Bruce didn't like him, and he wouldn't trust someone who hid secrets, but this Kent right now, who was calm and collected, had a unique allurement. He was a bit surprised to discover, the most distracted part of him was really considering sleeping with Kent. If......

He let the fingers that had been lying on Kent's cheek move upward without a sound. This could turn into a hair-grabbing, deep, lasting kiss, but of course, it could also, in a moment of careless accident, knock aside the other person's glasses. This kind of thing happened all the time between clumsy lovers, the kinds of idiots who planned to cheat but were hurried and blundering about it.

If Kent really didn't have any secrets, they could go to bed together. After all, Bruce was a cutesy playboy, not averse to adding another notch to the end of his very long bedpost. But this was under the precondition that he didn't have any, and Bruce was very suspicious about this point. He let his breath fall on Kent's lips. His fingers were already around the edge of the glasses frame.

Something stopped the movement of his fingers, just as an index finger landed on Bruce's lips. This enraged Bruce into a staring fury. He couldn't believe Kent could break free from the control hold he had had on his shoulder.

That index finger laid also on Kent's lips. They were that close to each other in distance. But Kent's glasses sat firmly atop his nose, and that pair of merrily flashing eyes was absolutely infuriating.

"I can't sleep with an interviewee, Mr. Wayne." Kent started laughing. His smile wasn't silly or dreamy, and it wasn't even a little bit like the hazy, lewd one of a man whose lust had been whetted. His laugh was exactly like someone who had snatched up the kitten cuddled up by his feet, knowing that the kitten was actually secretly planning to bite off his thumb. He was cheerful. Honestly, for just a plain reporter, he seemed much too exaggeratedly cheerful.

His blue eyes were definitely entrancing.

"Perry has already been threatening to skin me for days, Mr. Wayne. For the sake of my life, could you please stop pressuring me?"

This made Bruce smile in equal delight -- except for that pair of icy blue eyes which weren't smiling in the least. "You're a difficult person, aren't you?"

"Maybe I'm just an old-fashioned man. We have to be on the third date before I'd dare move forward."

"Well, you could say that we've already had two dates. Are you trying to hint that I should make myself ready before next time?"

"I don't know," Kent muttered. He clamped onto Bruce's wrist and, so as not to allow Bruce to escape, moved it between them. It seemed that, without revealing his secret identity, it would be impossible to struggle free from the big guy's hand. Knowing this, Bruce pulled back a bit. He was on alert.

Kent only looked at him, and his smile for some reason had a note of restrained sorrow. "Do you want to be ready?"

"So, this is how you answer questions. You like to throw the question back, as if this way, you don't have to take any responsibility yourself. Everything is my suggestion, I'm seducing you, I'm forcing you, and when we actually sleep together, you'll still be an oblivious innocent. Hm? Mr. Kent......"

Bruce stopped, because Kent had pressed his lips against his fingertip. He was quietly kissing him, and when he spoke again, Bruce could feel the vibration of Kent's lips. "I never said I wasn't interested." He laughed lowly, and that rumbling vibration of sound jumped through Bruce's fingertip. "It's just not the right time, nor the right place -- and you haven't called me by my name yet, Bruce."

\--It was true that he hadn't yet called Clark by name, but that didn't seem relevant at the moment. He didn't even take the trouble to answer. Before getting up from Kent's lap, at the last, he narrowed his eyes and looked him over in detail.

"I apologize," he said. "I've behaved inappropriately today -- but I really do think we've met somewhere before."

"Oh, Bruce." Kent was teased into a smile. Every time he recited Bruce's name, his tone was like someone reciting a hymn to a deity. "Are you using an old trick like that to flirt with me?"

Bruce tried again to pull his hand back, and Kent, very timely and polite, let go.

"Maybe you should call me Mr. Wayne." He rotated his wrist. "That's more fitting to our working relationship."

"Right."

"We're only acquaintances, the kind who happened to get kidnapped together once."

"Yes."

He glanced at Kent sharply. The big guy was still smiling.

"I still feel like you're secretly snickering at me inside your head," he said meanly.

"For heaven's sake, I'm really not-- I was only thinking about something that was bothering me. I was thinking of you."

"Terrific." Bruce said, "If I don't ask you what you're thinking, would you accuse me of not taking a hint?"

"Actually, it's fine even if you don't ask." Kent answered, "There's someone who, when it comes to romance, is either completely casual or as serious as they come. I'm only wondering, how can I spy out this person's true feelings?"

"That's a good question. But what does it have to do with me?"

"Don't you think you're serious? What about during the kidnapping? You blow hot and cold. You're a puzzle."

"I was terrified. You'll have to forgive a person who doesn't have the presence of mood to climb onto your lap and flirt with you during a kidnapping. That's just normal."

"I'll take it as so."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Now, you're starting to make me hate you."

"Then let me say it another way. I like the part of you that's cold and unsentimental, Mr. Wayne, but at the same time, I like the passion you showed when you climbed onto my lap."

"Now, you should be calling me Bruce."

"Of course, of course," Kent laughed, "Bruce."

Bruce dropped his eyes. He stared at the part of his body that had been clamped down, where, due to Kent's ridiculous strength, it had swollen slightly as if he'd been burned in a line. "You want to continue working?"

Kent pondered for a while -- Bruce could imagine what Kent was thinking of -- until he suddenly muttered, shrugging, "I still need to ask you what you think of the Justice League members, for instance Superman, for instance Batman, but you've already discussed that with me. That was the last part."

"When we were kidnapped, you didn't inform me that would be an interview."

"It's all the same. It wasn't as if I had any expectations." Kent answered, "In any case, in our current situation, I sure don't want to listen to you carrying on, admiring Superman's ass."

"Oh, you're angry."

"I'm not-- maybe a little bit," he said. "If you could talk about some good parts of his personality, I would be happier."

"You should know, you shouldn't get in a contest for who's richer with Bruce Wayne, just like you also shouldn't get in a contest with Superman over whose chest is broader."

"I don't think his chest is that broad," Kent again shrugged, "No, I just find it difficult to put your estimations of his chest or ass into a serious article: 'Mr. Wayne grades the Justice League's member standards highly, and specially gives sharp and harsh reviews to Superman's figure'. No one wants to read that."

"That's hurtful. The special issue of the _Gotham Gazette_ on Superman and Bruce didn't sell badly."

"I'm from a serious newspaper," Kent reminded him, "Although, as a fan of Batman, if you wish to share a bit about Batman's waist area, I would gladly keep talking with you."

"As a reporter, you're too eager to give your subjective opinion."

"According to the Framing Theory, although I cannot express my own love for Batman, just like you can disallow me from discussing Batman, I can leave out this part where you discuss Superman-- You don't mind that, do you, Mr. Wayne?"

"Should I mind?" He raised his eyebrows.

This made Kent look at him for a long time, until he suddenly laughed, shaking his head. "I think I'd better go." He started to gather his notebook and recorder from the table. "But I'll keep this pocket recorder as a souvenir to return to often, Mr. Wayne."

"Call me Bruce." He also stood. "Want a glass before you go?"

"I have to work tonight, so I'd better not walk out the door here, tipsy."

"Too bad, or else I might have invited you to dinner."

"That doesn't sound sincere at all, but I'll thank you for the thought."

"I could be more sincere-- Were you trying to make me ask you what your job tonight is?"

"Oh." This made Kent smile suddenly, his eyes squinted up, and the alarm bells in Bruce's head began clanging. "You wouldn't like it: The second spread of the Justice League is still empty. Perry wants us to get a first interview from Batman. You know, when I said on the phone that I was doing some investigating, it was for this. Gotham's two biggest specialties."

He purposely let his gaze pause on Bruce for a long time.

Oh.

"Then, regarding that other specialty, may I know what the progress is on that?"

Kent, who had already reached the doorway, turned back. Alfred would arrive up the stairs in less than a minute, having heard their movements, and he would escort Kent out of this room. "I haven't had the chance to interview Batman yet, but I have optimism every day. Today, I got to interview you." He suddenly said, full of hope, "Do you think today is my lucky day?"

This was a question that had nothing to do with Bruce, so he only stood at the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe, the other hand holding the door handle.

He didn't like Kent. Right now, he was certain of this point. It wasn't only that the man was covered in secrets, or the way he spoke, that characteristic way he acted where he never obediently swallowed the hook.

Bruce didn't like to admit his own failures-- People could go ahead and ridicule him for being contentious and over-competitive. In the same way, he didn't like for situations to slip free of his control. He hadn't collected enough information on Kent yet.

And then, he realized, he and Kent were currently in a position of mutual safety. Kent didn't have his defenses up against him, because he couldn't suddenly free one hand to knock off his glasses.

Therefore, he abruptly lifted on his toes, and he landed a kiss on Kent's cheek.

"I'll look forward to meeting you again, Clark." This time, he said it, the name of this man who kept trying to hide something. "I hope that next time, we can both be more honest."

That was the first time that Kent's face showed a weak tremor of surprise. He tried to hide it, but it shone in his eyes. He used his arm to awkwardly wipe the spot where Bruce had kissed him, and his face was slightly red. He didn't say a word until Alfred showed up.

A short while later, when Kent was leaving the Manor, Bruce leaned against the window, staring at the silhouette of the man who kept stroking his cheek.

He knew what Kent was hiding.

Curiosity killed the cat, but it couldn't kill a determined Batman on the chase.


	8. Chapter 8

For the habits of a single man, Clark Kent's phone browsing history could be described as dry and tedious. There weren't any websites skirting the edges of criminality, no pictures of women that would make your pulse race, and even the search history could be said to be clean as a whistle.

"first date tips"

"boyfriend first date tips"

"gay romance first date tips"

"potential romantic partner dating"

"secret crush dating"

"how to know if he really likes me"

"first date in my lap"

"how to know if my date is playing me or looking for love"

"Bruce Wayne gay romance"

......for most definitions of clean.

Bruce crouched on his favorite Gotham gargoyle, partly aware of his surrounding, partly continuing to scroll through Clark Kent's phone -- even though, at the moment of hacking into the phone, the vast majority of his messages had been uploaded to the Batcave, into a computer that was quarantined from the others, for special duplication, he'd still decided to inspect it before returning it. On the lock screen, a huge Justice League logo -- square and standard, a bit grandiose; the main page, a classic picture of the Batsignal sparkling against the Gotham cloud layer -- good taste; top contact on the messaging app had the initials LL -- Bruce controlled his urge to send a screenshot of Kent's search history over; the photo album, aside from some still lifes and scenery photos, contained only screenshots of various news bites, occasional various news pictures of Batman, with no regard to time or place -- in his mind, his image of Kent gradually overlapped with those gayboys who, as soon as they saw a beautiful man, would fantasize that there was something between them, or extend that into an obsession with making gay porn videos where Batman ripped your pants off in a dark, narrow alley; and of course, there was also Kent's own social media apps. As a well-known reporter, his social media was stuffed full of all kinds of cat photos, making Bruce want to interrogate the Metropolis reporter about the source of his passion for slacking off; forwarded posts were mostly related to society or political news, his only forward that expressed his subjective point of view in the past month being a blog post from a Wayne Enterprises employee announcing company merchandise: "Justice League toys now a reality! Choose your personal favorite superhero!"

In this forward, Kent had tried to use a calm, objective tone to hide the actual shouting that was actually in his heart: "Anyone who knows anything about the Justice League will know what Batman contributes to the League. As one of the first superheroes to fight crime, for all these years, he's maintained his loyalty to justice, generosity towards others, and perseverance and diligence toward working for peace. It need not be said how tough he is: no matter what criticism he's faced with, he never gives up, and he's forever carefully reflecting on himself. After the League was founded, he even volunteered to remain in the background -- a definite proof of humility. The seven virtues of Man can be found sparkling in his person. Even if you're uninterested in all this, you should give your vote for his fit, built body, his graceful figure, and his sexy, big muscles. Please tap O key to open the link, for more of my analyses about the importance of Batman."

Bruce contemplated this link for a while.

He shouldn't. But. There didn't seem to be anyone around. He didn't need to. But. Right? It would be helpful to his future investigations to understand how well Kent knew Batman's particulars. If he opened this link, then his motivations must be saintly, serious, completely impersonal. What was that phrase? Shrink neither from recommending your enemies nor your own family. If, just because he was Batman, he didn't investigate all news related to Kent fully, then he would be shirking his duty as the League consultant.

Again, he alertly checked around him, and then, lightning-fast, he clicked into the link address.

The page loaded very slowly. It must be one of those personal blogs with a small load capability that got stuck even on its own server. Bruce waited another few seconds, starting carelessly to make a visual sweep of Gotham below him, and it was just as he was considering changing to a different gargoyle and continuing his patrol, that a voice suddenly came to him from above his head.

"So," Superman said, "Batman also slacks off and plays with his phone during patrol. I think next time when you catch Robin secretly sending texts during patrol, you'll have to go easier on him. Right, B?"

Snatching up the ancient mobile phone that had very nearly slipped into freefall from Gotham's highest gargoyle, he fearlessly raised his head and glared cooly. He pointed at Superman. 

"When did Robin send texts?" he hissed.

Bruce actually knew the answer to this question, had known for a long time, but it was a good cover for that embarrassing moment when Superman had startled him. As a result, in the next second, the foolish person whose face had turned bright red, who was unconsciously rubbing his lips to try and cover up the fact that he'd spoken out of turn, that fool was now Superman. "Oh," he said, "You didn't know...... Oh, sorry. He was only, uh, occasionally, I'd pass by and see, but you know, he's becoming a young man, at least from his size it looks like, so, oh......"

I think he's probably sending flirty texts to girls. Superman seemed to be fighting a terrific battle with the side of him that wanted to tell the truth.

"I don't need you to judge how I educate Robin." Satisfied then in the appropriateness of his actions, Bruce slightly raised his chin. After this proud declaration, he finally remembered to revert to his customary cool tone. "What's your reason for coming to Gotham?"

Superman was clearly relieved at their change in topic: "Can't I come to Gotham without a reason...... Uh, okay. I just happened to be here and wanted to see you. The main thing is, I don't have any plans tonight, I'm not on duty at the Hall of Justice. The manual l-- the survey you wanted me to do in space," for an instant, he'd seemed about to pronounce the syllables of 'manual labor', but under Batman's expressionless gaze -- discretion is the better part of valor -- he eventually changed his words, "That doesn't start until next week......"

Thinking of next week, that was when free labor from Superman and Green Lantern would assemble the Watchtower in place in space for the Justice League -- saving a large amount of money. A certain financial contributor behind the scenes at last felt a tiny thread of satisfaction. He decided to forgive Superman's unplanned visit, forgive him this once.

Then Superman poked his head over and, with the familiarity that only a years-long coworker could bring, destroyed Batman's rare show of tolerance.

"Speaking of," he said, "what are you looking at? 'Why Batman is the Justice League's......'"

He pressed the phone's lock screen key twice, perhaps a bit too hard, because when he pressed down, the phone uttered a thin wail.

(Well, after all, it wasn't _his_ phone.)

"--Oh, B." Whatever effect this act of obfuscation had, it was only to cause Superman to release a wave of even more irritating satisfaction, chock-filled with absolute delight, just as if Batman hadn't told him to get out but had instead pulled him close to whisper an intimate secret, shared only between them and the birds and the bees. "You use the Justice League for your personal wallpaper? I just knew you would like it. Do you remember what it was like when the Justice League was in its first planning stages? We practically watched it grow, step by step. I always thought, it was just like the two of ours......"

"This isn't my phone," Bruce cut him off with a hiss, "It's a suspected perp's burner phone."

"......All right." Superman braked successfully, and he put on a look of exaggerated innocence and stared at him in a way that Batman had zero doubt that he'd known from the start but was only purposely pranking him.

Everyone always thought that Superman was like a god made flesh, but if Bruce were to tell it, if Superman were a god, he could only come from Scandinavia or Greece -- at any rate, a trouble-maker out of those pantheons of trouble-makers who claimed the halo of godship while causing chaos for humankind and getting up to lewd shenanigans. It was really surprising, the number of times when he exposed his human side to Bruce.

"Then, please allow me to ask," Superman used his extra careful voice -- the one he always used to test Batman's farthest boundaries, so that he could find when Batman was unprepared and hop right over them -- used that tone of voice that drove Batman crazy to slowly, hesitantly say, "Which ignorant criminal has got your Gotham muddled in a tizzy now? I thought you'd had it pretty easy this past month."

There was a saying somewhere in the world that went, prepare for danger while in times of peace. A Gotham in turmoil wasn't frightening, but rather a peaceful Gotham was. Bruce had a kind of deep faith in his fellows, who were simple, unpretentious, and were liable to look for trouble where none readily presented itself. So, whenever he found time on his hands, he looked for some work to do as well.

For instance, tracking Clark Kent.

"This person." He dug the leather wallet out from his person. From the worn corners, it looked like Kent had used it for many years. "You should recognize this."

He held up Kent's driver's license and social security card so they could be seen in more detail -- bullshit, even if they were twenty meters apart, Superman would be able to see it clearly, but let's just pretend Superman wanted to see them in more detail -- and Superman drifted leisurely down to land behind Bruce. His red cape rippled up and down in the wind, occasionally brushing past Bruce's face, which was rather annoying. He wanted him to get away from him, but he also suddenly wanted to reach out and grab him and drag him down. Regarding the latter, Wonder Woman had once expressed a quite inaccurate opinion, something along the lines of how the cats of Paradise Island had the same reaction when they saw a cat toy waved in front of them. However, Kal wouldn't know the furious struggle inside Batman's head, because he was busy staring at the driver's license in Bruce's hand.

"Clark Kent." Superman said it slowly, his eyebrows rising leisurely. When he made such a gesture this slowly, it generally meant that he wasn't much interested in the topic. "My media liaison. What's wrong? Did he blow up your Gotham?"

Batman glared at him briefly. "He's dangerous." He said, "He has a secret, and that makes me uncomfortable."

"That's quite convincing, coming from someone covered in secrets." Superman criticized him, then cleared his throat in a more serious way, before Batman could threaten him. "So, how did you get his...... mobile phone and wallet? Did you mug him?"

***

Batman didn't mug people.

More to the point, Batman didn't mug anyone who hadn't committed a crime.

Just imagine, if Kent had just met with Bruce Wayne and that very night, the legend of Gotham had landed in front of him, and then, like a common criminal had stolen his wallet -- even if you put aside the morality of it, Bruce would never do something stupid like that that would raise suspicions.

But when he had found Kent's trail, there was no reason for Bruce not to follow him. This Metropolis man had been scurrying in and out of various places, collecting leads for his news, and Bruce could follow behind him without notice. He seemed very interested in the terms of the trade agreement that had recently been enacted between Metropolis and Gotham, very concerned about whether it would improve the lives of the lower middle class as the governments had predicted. And since he was investigating the lower middle class, this created a necessary situation: he had to frequent Gotham's slums.

In Gotham, even a three-year-old child understood:

Don't walk the streets of Gotham at night.

Don't walk the streets of the slums of Gotham at night.

Don't go out without a gun and walk the streets of the slums of Gotham at night.

This was the difference between the culture of Gotham and Metropolis, and now Kent the reporter had to face a huge culture clash. As he walked with head down, paging through his notebook, stepping over broken rubble, Bruce could already anticipate what would happen next.

The first to appear were two people, the older one no more than twenty-four, the younger only seventeen or eighteen. They were wearing long coats, their hands in pockets. The bulky pockets could hold a body-piercing dagger, or hide a modified fast-fire handgun.

Kent must have heard something, or, as an investigative reporter, he had an instinct borne of experience being in numerous dangerous situations. Just as Bruce was about to approach, to get to a place where he could more easily intervene, he raised his gaze alertly from his notebook and calmly glanced in front of him. The way he stuffed his notebook into his coat pocket was extremely dexterous and quick, considering his usual affect. Immediately, he tried to turn, pretending not to have noticed anything as he retreated in a hurry -- this was his second mistake, because in this situation, the criminal would assuredly have a companion to flank him.

By the time Batman had stepped onto the bricks surrounding the rooftop over their heads, Kent had already been surrounded by four people.

(One raised a gun, and two had knives. The one who was the leader... had Bruce met him before? No. Then he hadn't made it into the crime logs of Gotham's criminals. What did this mean? This person was an experienced mugger, someone who knew to grab the money and go, knew not to kill, not to cause extra trouble, not to make the Gotham police officers who could barely hold their own spend extra time chasing him down. Or, was he a new hand, still wet behind the ears, a young man who might slip up and blast someone away just from nerves?)

Someone pressed a gun muzzle to Kent's low back, while the others started to shove him toward the narrow alley between two buildings.

(The hand holding the gun didn't shake, a good sign. Newbies could never manage that. As long as Kent cooperated, at least his life wouldn't be in danger.)

"Get the fuck in there." The leader spat some saliva. "Get the fuck in there, and don't try anything funny. Get in there right now. Do you want to die? You don't, right? Well, then, be good. Don't try anything funny. Get the fuck in there!"

Just for a moment, Bruce was worried Kent would be an idiot, because when his gaze rested on the criminal's gun, he looked so calm, not dazed with fright, not wincing and shrinking, but rather cooly indifferent to the threat.

(If they thought Kent was a troublesome hardhead, if they decided to go ahead and shoot Kent from this distance, what did Bruce have? A flash-bang? That might provoke them to retaliate out of reflex. In this scenario, bullets wouldn't be accurate, but luck couldn't be depended on. He also had a small smoke bomb in his belt.)

(He could buy three seconds of time.)

Bruce glanced at the looseness of the brick at his feet. The weight of two adult men-- how much did Kent weight? A visual estimate put him at around two hundred pounds, but from this afternoon when Bruce had felt his muscles, it was probably more. The two of them together would be close to five hundred pounds of load. Five hundred pounds......

As he was pushed into the alley, although Kent had looked more or less unafraid in that moment, he went submissively like before. Bruce let out a relieved breath, and suddenly, the gang of people had shoved Kent to tumble to the ground. The big oaf backed up clumsily, accidentally ran into the wall behind him, tripped, and fell back to the ground.

"......" Bruce narrowed his eyes.

"Get your money out, boy." He nearly missed what the gun-holder was saying. "Fuck, I don't like to repeat myself. I know your kind, bastards who lick the asses of the rich. You've got that sickening milkface. Wallet, phone, credit cards, and the money hidden in your socks that you got by selling your ass! Give it all to me! Now!"

He was barely listening to what the gunman was saying. He was remembering some specific moment, when he had seen something. He couldn't even be sure what he had seen, only that he thought......

The way Kent had fallen had seemed strange.

It was a strangeness that was hard to describe. He'd seen people fall thousands, maybe even ten thousand times. Some fell facing him, some with their backs to him, and some were far away, and Kent was only one more ordinary, unremarkable case. He couldn't say precisely what caused him to sense a kind of subtle unnaturalness. Maybe it was his expression? His actions? Or was it that fake clumsiness that he seemed to evince unconsciously since they'd first met?

(If this really were fake, then what was the reason for Kent to pretend? Could this be bait? He wanted to draw Batman out of his cave, he wanted to see through Batman's secrets. This line of deduction might be putting him in too bad a light, but at the moment, he couldn't think of a better explanation.)

(After all, he didn't know much about Kent. Maybe Kent just liked to fool people. He was quite handsome, and pretty people were mostly fakes.)

Bruce remembered the afternoon, Kent's blue eyes staring at him.

"Listen," Clark Kent said with his calm voice. "I'll give you the money. You don't need to worry. We don't need this to get complicated." His hand started to slide toward his pocket. This was a big mistake -- almost no one traveled Gotham at night without a gun, so he hadn't even half-completed the action before two of the muggers interrupted him. After kicking him twice, one of them dragged Kent up, his actions as rough as if he were hauling up a sack of potatoes. As he did this, while the gunman and a knifeman stood alert, the fourth person began searching him.

(That was two hundred pounds. Bruce thought. Two hundred pounds. Even Bruce himself couldn't lift two hundred goddamn pounds so easily -- but what did this mean? The clues were in front of Bruce, but Bruce still didn't know how to piece them together.)

(It couldn't be that this little mugger was a Hercules. He didn't look built...... no.)

He watched as the criminals found Kent's wallet, phone, and credit card. Useless things like the digital audio recorder and notebook were tossed to the ground. The person searching felt around Kent's pockets once more, and once he'd ascertained that there was nothing left and stood up with a nod, the one holding Kent from behind instantly twisted Kent's arm. Kent's body was forced forward, convenient for the gunman to turn his weapon around and whack him hard on the back of the head.

The gang of muggers sped away from the alley, and Bruce stood up from his spot at the third-story window shutter. From habit, he made a rapid descent and then stopped when he noticed that Kent wasn't bleeding. He seemed to be unconscious, his chest still rising and falling. Blood-- Kent wasn't bleeding.

Just as he was considering what to do next, including whether or not to take Kent to a hospital, and wondering what this series of observations of Kent's unnatural actions could mean, a cry rose from the alley.

Rubbing the back of his head, the reporter stumbled to his feet. Under the moonlight, he really looked terrible -- face ashen, clothes ragged, the classic look of a hapless mugging victim. Bruce pressed himself against the tops of the shutters and observed quietly.

The reporter searched around him for a while. He first found his notebook, and then the audio recorder that had been flung aside. These two seemed to be what he was most urgently worried about. After he found them, he stood and began limping out of the alley.

He ordered Robin to follow Kent until he was delivered to the hospital, or until he returned to where he was staying. Batman, meanwhile, had another job to finish tonight.

The gang of delinquents were just three blocks away, at an all-night bar. Bruce spent an hour observing their movements. (Robin reported back in the middle of this: Kent reached hotel, tail complete.) If this gang were really working together with Kent and had designed this scheme to find out Bruce's secret identity, then their acting abilities were at Oscar-winning levels. Bruce watched as they used Kent's wallet to get wasted, until one of the gunmen came out of the bar. From the direction of his staggering, he was probably full of rotgut and dying for a piss--

Batman landed behind him.

***

But Superman didn't need to know all that. Batman condensed the whole story down to two sentences.

"So," Superman concluded. "The perps mugged Clark, and you mugged the perps."

"From a certain perspective, that's correct."

"But before intervening, you watched them spend all of Clark's money, and while they were at it, swiped his credit card to the limit."

Bruce thought for a while. Aside from ethanol, that bar had many transactions involving the white stuff. "Yes." Kent wouldn't have had time to freeze it, considering when he woke up he didn't even have his phone on him.

"Oh, poor Clark." Superman's tone had a slight note of condemnation. "How will he pay his credit card?"

"He was walking Gotham at night," Batman returned coldly, "He should have known the consequences."

"So why don't you return his wallet?" Superman said, "I believe he'd be grateful to you, _even if_ you practically watched that group of thugs spend his money-- Do you know how big a blow this is to a salaried worker?"

Bruce had no comment for this. Batman was a vigilante, of course, but he wasn't Bruce Wayne. He didn't do charity. As to why he hadn't returned Kent's wallet......

He opened a pocket in his utility belt and took out a tracker and a bug, then suddenly opened another pocket and, from a sewing kit, picked out a thread with a color closest to the stitching in the lining of Kent's wallet.

"......My god." Superman said, "What are you hiding all the time in that belt of yours?"

You can save your surprise for the day I pull out a piece of pink kryptonite. Bruce thought, he was uninterested in replying to Kal's pointless question, so instead he focused his attention on picking out the thread in Clark's wallet with the point of his needle. As he did this, Superman floated around him two entire revolutions.

"......I'm not sure this is lawful."

"I don't care."

"But I care." Superman drifted another circle, and as Bruce stuffed the bug and the tracker into the lining, then licked the thread to try and put it through the eye of the needle, he stared at the tip of Bruce's protruded tongue without blinking. "This feels weird to me," he couldn't help but complain, "You're sewing Clark's wallet, and I'm just standing by and watching. You know, this makes me think of a scolding old mother hen, darning and sewing the years away."

\--This was definitely not the most distasteful analogy Superman had ever spoken. So, Batman could tolerate it.

Just barely tolerate it.

"If you really care so much." He didn't lift his head as he spoke. "You could tell me more about your liaison. How do you see him?"

"How do I see him." Superman repeated his words. "B, he's my media liaison......"

"I mean, do you think he's trustworthy." He hated when Superman pretended to be clueless. "Don't beat around the bush. How well do you know him?"

Superman seemed reluctant to answer the question. "From what I know," he hesitated, "I think he's pretty trustworthy."

"From what you know, of course." Biting the thread, Bruce sneered. "Three years ago, you told me, from what you knew, Lex Luthor was only an eccentric rich guy."

"......You can't blame me for that." Superman justified himself, "Back then, you didn't see it either......"

"I remember you once said you liked part of his point of view," regarding Superman, of course, "This Clark Kent doesn't seem to like you much either. Do you have some kind of fetish in this area? Unrequited love?"

"......I don't think he'd go _as far as_ turning into like Luthor," he skipped the last question, which amused Bruce, "Judging from the amount of hair he has, he's well-rooted and solid."

"Lex Luthor didn't start becoming a villain because he's bald," Bruce shot back coldly. He was continuing to be annoyed and distracted by the way Superman was making circles around him, and at last, in a momentary lack of restraint, he snatched the cape and dragged him down. Superman calmly went along with it to sit beside him. "So, why did you really choose him to be your media liaison? Don't play dumb, Kal, don't tell me you picked up a stray kid from the side of the road......"

Superman didn't make a sound.

......

Batman put down his sewing project, disbelieving. "You really did."

"No." Superman said, "I didn't."

"Kal-El."

"No!" he shouted, "I really didn't, B. You need to fix that habit of yours of jumping to erroneous conclusions about other people. The reason I chose Clark is, I trust him, I understand him, I think he's worthy of trust. Is that enough for you?"

After having pulled Superman down, now he wanted to send him back to the clouds where he belonged.

Actually, when he thought about it, this really was the sort of thing Superman would do. What he meant was, Superman could absolutely be too hair-raisingly soft-hearted sometimes. Just because Kent and Lane were the ones who had lucked into being the first to interview him, and then after that had happened to have a time of recurrent meetings, as a result, Superman had developed a bit of a fledgling complex-- That really did sound like Superman.

And to think, he had held out hope that Superman would have done a careful background check on his media liaison.

"......I guarantee." Superman paused for a while, and finally spoke as if controlling himself, "He's clean."

"Oh, really?" Batman scoffed as he said. "Then you can talk about what he does with his time when he's not with you. Do you know him?"

"Oh, of course." Superman couldn't help but sneer, "We can imagine that after work, he's the sort who often goes to secret meetings with people who hide their faces from the light, passionately searches for news about kryptonite, and not only that, he often hangs around outside Luthor's company. Maybe he pays attention to the other members of the Justice League aside from myself, for instance, coming to Gotham three times a week to spy out the League consultant's latest movements. He must be extremely dangerous, because he's always able to get the most breaking news from the League-- Well, Mr. Detective? Would a report like this satisfy you?"

Bruce hesitated for a moment. He knew Kal was purposely pushing his buttons. But he still needed to consider the possibility of these scenarios.

"If," he said, "this Kent really has his heart in the wrong place......"

"What do you mean by in the wrong place?"

"If he wants to harm the members of the League." He said, "Like those crooks."

"I don't know." Superman said, "You know, he's a ride-or-die fan of yours. Last month, he even campaigned for you for the League popularity poll. Do you think this is something normal for a crook to do? Or do bad guys in your Gotham City like to give a courtesy vote for Batman before murdering Superman? Release a last hurrah of opinions before being locked up, or something like that?"

"No matter what the goal is, let's say he has bad intentions for certain members of the League."

"'All right, dear, I think Batman is better suited for Metropolis, so what ought I to do about it?'"

"The problem is exactly, what would he do," Bruce said. "Firstly, he would collect news related to the League."

"Half the people on the planet collect news related to the League."

"The browsing history on his phone has numerous entries related to the Justice League."

"Considering his job is to report on the Justice League, this is pretty unusual."

"He could go through you."

"I'm sure I haven't _talked_ with him about anything to do with the Justice League."

"Then he could follow some of us."

"For instance, the Flash." Superman happily agreed, "Of course, he could catch up to him."

Bruce snorted. It was an expulsion of breath that expressed how infuriated he was. "Kal-El," he said. "Maybe he can't follow you, Flash, or Green Lantern, but he could manage to follow someone else."

"For instance, who?"

For instance, me.

Bruce swallowed back this sentence. "He's very interested in Gotham, and the more I know about him, the less happy I am."

"Investigate his plane ticket history."

"Maybe he has other ways to get to Gotham." He had investigated, and surprisingly, in the last year, Kent had only come to Gotham twice -- but the familiarity with which he had visited around today was not of someone who'd only been here twice.

"Yes." Next to Bruce, Superman distractedly fixed the cuff of his skintight uniform. "He must have superpowers. All he has to do is think it, and _whoosh_ , he'll fly over here from Metropolis."

"If he'd never been to Gotham," Bruce ignored him. "He'd be focused on Metropolis."

"Now that's my territory, and I can guarantee, Clark Kent has never tried to murder me, and he detests Luthor."

"......That doesn't make sense." Bruce mumbled, angry. Gotham was welcoming her beautiful dawn, and the spot where they were sitting was a place that Bruce had spent considerable effort choosing, a place that was best suited to appreciate the soft light of dawn.

This was a place best suited for kissing, for dating, and he was frowning while sewing Clark Kent's goddamn wallet.

"I think regarding Clark Kent, the best strategy is for you to put aside your......"

"Then let's start with a motive."

"You really do hate him, don't you." Superman said, "All right, continue."

"I'm not paranoid."

"Of course, you're only after the factual truth."

"He makes me uncomfortable, Kal-El. He's like a needle in my heart."

"I've heard a story about a needle in the heart. It was a nightingale who used his own heartsblood to water and grow a rose of love."

"So his motive, why is he fixated on me?" He'd like to know just when Superman had started using this kind of otherwise authentic-seeming sincerity to mock people. "Why does he like to keep circling around Batman?"

At this question, Kal-El looked at him.

He used a tone that he could be sure Batman would hate.

"Ah, well, it's so obvious." He said, "He's in love with you. Almost _crazy_ in love with you. Can't you tell?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~So sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. The last two weeks have not been calm. The good news is, this chapter is the longest yet. Hope you enjoy! :)~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: I've made some personal adjustments to Clark's glasses: perhaps some modern Kryptonian tech tricks to keep up with the times.

"......"

"......"

"......"

"I'm sorry." Following Batman's lead down into an ever-lengthening silence, Superman leapt off the gargoyle in one move and without needing to look at Batman's censorious face, he lifted both hands high. "I didn't mean it. I'm... not in a good mood today." He said, "I said a little too much-- Don't be mad, B."

"......"

Batman's expression, under his mask, didn't have a trace of emotion. All you could see was how he pressed his lips together like a knife slash, cold and unfeeling.

The soft glow of dawn light swept over their shoulders. A few crows who had left their nests at first light landed on this roof that was empty of anything but black and white shadows. Naturally, they recognized the black-clad figure. They knew that if they saw him at this hour, they could always beg some bits of snacks and crumbs from his hand. They waited, full of expectant hope.

Superman's expression turned unnaturally pale. With great effort, he was still maintaining his usual attitude, that old look that always came through on his face, a feeling of steadiness, compassion, and courtesy. Still, those heavy and unconsciously drooping eyebrows, the corners of his mouth that had lost their everyday playful smile, his slightly compressed shoulders, all made this man, who should have been knightly and forceful, look now like a lost, depressed dog who had just been severely scolded.

He didn't quite know why, but this last thought made Bruce experience a surge of anger.

"You did say a little too much," Bruce repeated, hoarsely.

"......" This made Superman glance at him listlessly. Daylight flashed a gloomy darkness across his face. "Right," he said, "I'll keep a close eye on Clark for you. I mean......" He swallowed. "You don't need to get angry, or to feel upset about this......"

It was only a bunch of jokes. Superman observed his expression. You know I sometimes have the urge to lighten up the room, so I'll...... say a bit of nonsense. You have absolutely no reason to take it seriously.

You don't need to take it seriously.

"......I'm glad you understand." He heard himself say, "Don't do that again, Kal."

_Caw! Caw!_

Having at last recognized that their hopes were not to be fulfilled, the crows scattered into the vast night sky.

***

 _Pretense._ Bruce slammed the door of the Batmobile with a _bang_ , and without even seating himself properly or releasing the hand brake, he stomped down on the Batmobile's gas pedal. The starter boomed and howled an empty, angry sound from cycling uselessly. Pretense. Bruce released the hand brake, and the Batmobile shot off immediately like an arrow, leaping straight forward. This was all a complete pretense, through and through! Just think, Bruce dragged aside the snap buttons of the light armor at his shoulder. Just think. For countless nights, Superman had landed beside him, and hadn't he accepted all of the Son of Krypton's good intentions, allowed himself to be showered in his closeness and his passionate admiration? Could he even say, that he had never noticed at all, the countless times when Superman passed a secret look to him during a meeting, the countless battles after which he showed him a smile, and the countless nights, when the two of them sat tenderly side by side on a gargoyle? Pretense! This was truly a weak, altogether useless pretense! Of course, he could say that he didn't know anything. He knew if he were to answer that way, that goody-two-shoes Kal-El would accept it, lock stock and barrel. Look, this was exactly the problem, he understood Kal too well, sometimes better than the man himself. Of course, he could say that he had zero plans towards a Kal like this, that all the past intimacies were merely a misunderstanding springing from an over-close friendship. And as a result, once Superman knew how he felt, he would withdraw back into his usual shell of steady indifference. Yes, he thought, he would of course still treat him like a good friend, Kal-El was the epitome of noble, wasn't he? But after this, their relationship would never return to like before. Even if Superman decided to continue to pursue him tirelessly, even if Bruce decided to pretend that nothing had happened and maintain their fragile balance, they couldn't go back to the past, honestly and simply Superman and Batman.

Pretense. He drove onto the road that lead home, and as he made his customary sharp turn to avoid any possible tails, he noticed that he was unconsciously watching the rearview mirror, the Batman who always hid himself under a mask, who treated all this with cold indifference. That superior figure, announcing the absolute break between sensitivity and himself. So, he quirked the corner of his mouth, and he huffed a scornful laugh at this demon-like image.

Could he actually swear, that he had never hoped that Superman would proclaim undying love to him just like this, treat him with the limitlessly faithful passion just like every day that had passed between them before? Could he really tell himself truthfully, after five years, if Superman were to join together with someone who was willing to accept all of him, who understood how to appreciate his feelings, that he could offer his congratulations without a single bit of reservation, without a single bit of regret? Oh, of course he would congratulate Superman. No matter whom he chose to marry, he would be Superman's best friend. But underneath these congratulations, would there not still be some hidden eagerness for a doomed outcome? Could he really pretend that during all this time being pursued by Superman, he was really completely indifferent?

Gods carried a steel heart in their breasts, but Batman had only a beating human heart in his. He could tolerate and accept this, just like how he could tolerate and accept all the countless hardships that fate had sent him. Compared to the one that was the hardest to swallow, Superman's disappointment and subsequent finding of a new love was merely the mildest of the lot.

However, the problem was, he didn't want to.

You could use an algorithm to calculate the angle of a bullet leaving the gun, you could convert probability into an action plan, but you couldn't exchange rationality for a heart.

His and Superman's hearts, both their hearts, were like two weights dangling precariously at either end of this balanced relationship, neither daring to take a step forward, neither daring to take a step back, because a single misstep would cause those hearts to tumble to the ground, to shatter irretrievably into fine powder in front of both their eyes......

And then, that goddamn Superman had to say, he was in love with him, was crazy in love with him. Why, why use Clark Kent as some sort of goddamn privacy screen, as if Bruce couldn't understand that Superman was actually saying something completely different? He had never in the past, and he would never in the future, practice self-deception or try to deceive others as a method of covering up the unsightly, torturous truth in front of him. Superman may have feared that he would hurt Batman, so he used Kent as a blind. "He's in love with you. Crazy in love with you," Superman had said, "Can't you tell?" Some people would think that Superman's words were incredibly gentle. But gentle? Ha. _He_ hadn't heard a scrap of gentleness in Superman's words. If he were really an innocent, harmless little thing, really as dependable and reserved as everyone imagined, then he should never have spoken such words in the first place. How could he not know that Batman understood the true meaning behind this statement-- When he made his statement, he was clearly checkmating Batman, but at the same time, he had laid a gentle overcoat onto his own actions.

I'm in love with you, crazy in love with you, Superman had said to him while looking softly into his eyes, Can't you tell?

Bruce's fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that dark tendons popped out.

Just let hell devour this blasted Son of Krypton. Bruce wouldn't save him. He hated the way Superman spoke carelessly with reckless abandon, he was furious at how Superman could give pursuit so tirelessly. He had tried to pull back, to increase the distance between the two of them-- If they really wanted to be together, then wouldn't it be best to increase the distance between them and think about it reasonably? Why couldn't the Kryptonian understand this?

However. Bruce finally raised his foot, allowing the overheated engine to cool down slowly, and once the view outside his window was no longer a blurred fog, he started to hear something ranting inside his brain. He said, he was wrong.

He said it was only a joke.

Superman, who a second before had been laughing and cheerful in that detestable way, as if he were making it his ultimate life goal to drive Batman to insanity with rage, had suddenly stood in front of him, hopelessly depressed.

It was only a bunch of jokes. Exactly like a lost dog that had endured a severe scolding, that man had hung his head and spoken softly. I...... didn't mean to upset you.

I won't embarrass you again.

This Superman, it was exactly this Superman that made Bruce want to howl at him. He wanted to take hold of Superman's shoulders and shake him, tell him he damn well had better not display this look like Bruce had just kicked him. He could damn well not let show how hurt he was. He could damn well remember that he was Superman, and how could the goddamn Superman get hurt? All he had to damn well do was to continue being his ditzy, stupid self. No one would expect him to, to......

"......"

In the end, Bruce couldn't help but let out a sigh. That thing that was contracted in his chest, that was trapped so inescapably that it made him want to howl and rage, when it finally left his lips, it unexpectedly turned into a sorrowful sigh that could barely be heard. He tore his cowl off roughly, and he pushed his hair back with hard strokes.

It was always like this. It was always like this. It was always like this.

Batman's mask was by his hand, staring at him in silence with those white eyes as inscrutable as fog.

Pointless. Pointless. He thought, This indifferent mask was pointless, this pretense that cut him off from the world was pointless.

Many times, he felt that this lead-lined armor was actually defenseless against Kal's gaze. At times, he thought Kal could look through the armor and see a Bruce with eyes widened in surprise.

His firm chin wouldn't counter its master's intentions and give away any of his secrets to an associate, but as for the other parts that were covered up, when Superman had dropped that phrase, "just a joke", what had been their expression in that moment? This brain that Batman was always so proud of had been infected by a virus known as Superman, so in that moment, countless popup windows had drowned out the display that Bruce used to run his code. First was a giant "He really did it", and then the one that made him want to break furniture, "I knew it", plus numerous smaller windows, appearing densely packed together, from unbelievable and unforgivable to a slightly sour, guilty-tasting pleasure.

But, that was all in the past now.

While initiating a thorough virus scan and aggressive deletion, Bruce took all the confused and troubled thoughts that had arisen from Superman and reorganized them.

It was all in the past now.

Any happiness, anger, and that big ball of unnamable feelings, all those had gone into the past.

It was time to do what Batman should be doing.

***

Right now, there were two questions that were the most urgent. One was Superman's extremely odd and subtly changed attitude, and one was the man who was still wrapped in a mystery and hard to get a read on, Kent. It was hard to say which one gave Batman a bigger headache. However, the first one had many possible causes-- Superman was, after all, not a robot that could be counted on to behave rationally 100% of the time. Emotions, events, and some subtle unspeakable things could all greatly affect the quality of his performance. Bruce, without meaning to, thought of all his recent interactions with Superman.

"Don't be like this, B. It was an effort for him."

Their meeting before last in the Hall of Justice, Superman had appeared quite open and straightforward. And, if the problem had happened after that, they had only met one more time in the meeting room. At the time, Bruce had been concentrating almost all of his attention on building the Watchtower with his own hands. Superman......

Superman had given him a bunch of fluff opinions, and then he'd said that he wanted to meet Brucie.

"......" _This_ memory made Bruce toss his cowl onto the passenger seat beside him and then recline his seat with one foot rested on the steering wheel. With the Batmobile's auto-drive making its soft electronic sounds, Bruce began calmly to comb the short hairs at his forehead.

It was that incident that had made Brucie feel at the time that Superman's attitude was exceptionally strange-- On the one hand, he really seemed not to mind the scandalous rumors that had spread about himself and Brucie. At first, it seemed like he didn't even believe that Brucie had fallen in love with him, to the point where he didn't even take his usual careful measures of avoiding everyday adorations. On the other hand, when he asked to see Brucie, he'd shown a conflicting kind of persistence. It was that weird stubbornness that had angered Bruce at the time just when he'd been concentrating on his work.

What was it about Brucie that was worth Superman noticing him anyway? This was another unsolvable mystery for Bruce. He'd only interacted with Superman once, that time in Metropolis in a crowd and in public, and even though he'd been flirty and bold then, afterward when they'd met, Superman hadn't seemed to consider the incident anything to worry about. From any angle, it was illogical to conclude that Superman's abnormal behavior today was due to Brucie. However, from another point of view, if he hadn't made any encouraging moves in his role as Batman to cause Superman to make advances, and if there hadn't been any happenstances at the Justice League, and if Metropolis hadn't suffered any sudden attacks -- with these givens in place, unless Superman just happened to abruptly become enlightened in these particular two days to the fact that their status of "both of us know but neither of us is going to break the illusion of ignorance" was precarious, and so he had decided to charge recklessly straight in......

If he had actually charged recklessly straight in, Bruce thought, I would have thought it was more normal. But the problem was Superman's subtly odd attitude just now. He knew what Superman was like when he'd made a decision. The Man of Steel would charge through barriers, gaze determined, stubborn as a steel bull that not even Chimaera could budge. If he really were to lay all his cards on the table, then he would be serious and meticulous about everything, make it unequivocally official, and not like this, blurting something halfway.

He would have earnestly told Bruce his sincere feelings and what he hoped for the two of them afterwards, and at the end, he would have added, Even if you don't want that, I hope this won't affect the friendship between us.

He knew this headache-inducing Superman like the back and palm of his own hand. His integrity would have assured that he behave this way. So, no, he couldn't possibly have already done the work of thinking things through carefully. He couldn't have let his considerations mature before he said what he had tonight. There must have been something that had flustered him, causing him to react so weirdly and speak out of turn.

So, the problem had to have originated from Brucie. Then, the question was, what had Superman discovered?

Countless ideas flitted through his mind as a result. The most serious one was that Superman had finally seen through his secret identity, but that still wouldn't explain why Superman would be so agitated tonight. The most ludicrous one was that Superman's romantic feelings had shifted and he'd really fallen for Brucie, so tonight had been his last probing try. Of course, it could also be that he had discovered that Batman was Bruce, and then he'd found out that Brucie had climbed into Kent's lap in broad daylight......

The more ludicrous of his thoughts forced a smirk out of Bruce. Other than this, what else had Brucie done? In the past half a month or more, his itinerary had been very simple: after being kidnapped, there'd been over a week of refusing all visitors while he'd recovered. Aside from yesterday's interview with Kent, he couldn't think of any other incident that might surprise anyone. The Manor's surveillance guaranteed that Superman couldn't land in his yard by secret without Bruce knowing......

So, in the end, the problem was still with Kent.

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

***

Like a spirit without a shadow, the Batmobile slid silently into its designated space. Alfred hadn't come to welcome him, so he didn't discover that his Master Bruce had flagrantly disregarded traffic regulations by putting his feet up on the steering wheel. Bruce had told him in advance not to wait up for him. After all, since Brucie had recovered from his fright, the company board, all major press outlets, and his friends had been waiting to see him, and his itinerary for the following days would be full, so he needed Alfred to be focused and at his best. As for Dick, he should be resting in his room......

Should.

When that word appeared, it always intimated the blaring differences that existed between situational reality and logical expectations.

Bruce hopped out of the car, face expressionless, and walked with strides of his long legs to stand behind Dick, who was at the moment entirely focused, sitting in front of the computer, using the big screen to play an XBOX game.

A short jump, a three-part combo chop, flash to an ultra move, a Seismic Toss, and K.O. "I AM SUPERMAN!" Dick -- anybody's guess whether it was in imitation of Batman or Superman -- took a single leap and jumped _onto the chair_ and began some kind of unique dance that only he could understand.

System Notification: The other party has issued another challenge.

"Ha! Ha! Too weak, subordinate." Dick summarily declined the request for a link, and, expression filled with glee, he exited to the arena's main menu where, on the top right of the screen, there showed a 28-win streak and a crown for Top 1. In the lower right, a continuous stream of notifications popped up for new users entering the battlefield to watch player SuperSuperAlwaysBetter.

This was the newest fighting game developed by Wayne Enterprises. Just last month, he had personally approved the application from Wayne Enterprises to the Justice League for the joint event -- with all profits used for purchasing construction materials for the Watchtower. So from a certain point of view, Dick was also contributing to the building of the Watchtower in his own way.

Calmly, Bruce watched as Dick accepted a challenge invite from a player who was using the Batman role. When Dick began to move his Superman character into making a series of attacks at the opposite player, he thought it was time.

With one stomp of his foot, he removed the XBOX power cord, and Dick's scream accompanied the last image on the screen -- Superman, abruptly motionless, being slugged by Batman so hard that he was just arcing into the air.

"No! No! No! This is cheating!" Dick said, irate, "This is cheating! I had a winning streak! This is an unethical win! Alfie, you said you wouldn't care tonight if......"

Wouldn't care......

Bruce tilted his head at Dick, and then he swung the power cord in his hand back and forth.

"....................................Hey, B." Dick gave a winsome little smile. "How was patrol? How did you take care of the big guy?"

"I put his wallet and mobile phone on Gordon's desk. As long as he reports the crime, they'll return them to him." Saying this, he threw the cord back on the ground. As he walked with a heavy tread to his seat in front of the main computer and focused completely on the wrappings around his legs, Dick remained seated where he was, watching him warily.

"......Bruce, are you...... in a bad mood?"

This made Bruce consider for just a moment. "You're playing video games all night," he pointed out.

"I wasn't playing video games all night. I was only-- All right, I was only looking for something to do while waiting for you to get back." Dick slowly answered, "I was worried about you."

"If it weren't for the fact that it's Saturday, and you don't need to get to class on Saturday morning, I would ground you, Dick Grayson." Bruce answered without even lifting his head. His shoes were tossed to the ground, making a dull _thump_.

Dick made a face. He _should_ be making a face, since, after all, Bruce wasn't angry at him. "But you're still unhappy." Dick said, "What happened during the last half of the night while I wasn't there? Did you run into some trouble? Did someone attack you? Or did Superman come knocking again?"

"......You do notice that you put Superman coming knocking and someone attacking me as equal scenarios, don't you, Grayson?"

"Oh, don't be like that, B. No one could be happier than me about Superman coming to Gotham, but I'm all too familiar with the look on your face after he goes looking for you......" Fearlessly, he swept his foot on the ground, turning his chair to face Bruce straight on. Now, he leaned on the armrest of Bruce's chair.

"What did Superman do to you now?" He said, "Did he say something that upset you? Did he cause you trouble again?" Did he......"

"He didn't do anything." Bruce answered him with utter finality.

In actuality, there was a moment where he considered letting Dick in on a little bit of the...... disagreement between himself and Superman. Dick Grayson had that kind of mysterious charisma where, if he only wanted it, he could pry open the mouth of the most taciturn of people. It was a natural-born ability, an EQ level that gave him bottomless empathy -- that was how Bruce would think of it proudly, when he was in a better mood -- a gentle voice, plus optimistic energy.

However, even so, he was using SuperSuperAlwaysBetter as his screenname. Bruce reminded himself coldly and callously. If he were to reveal even a sliver of a clue, he was certain Dick would immediately shriek and begin setting up Superman to become his second guardian.

You've been wishing for Superman to sign that "parental signature" field for a damnably long time. Don't think I don't know it, Dick Grayson.

"Clark Kent," before Dick could persist in his questions, he therefore switched attention to the other teeth-hurtingly infuriating entity from tonight, "is a hard nut to crack."

"What's suspicious about him?"

"......" Bruce swiftly arranged his words in his brain, "Instinct." He was sure.

"......Okay." Dick nodded seriously, "We know Batman's sharpest tool for breaking cases is his superior detective's instinct."

At this, Bruce gave him a long, expressionless stare, until Dick shrunk back, "My bad, Bruce, please continue."

"He seems to be quite familiar with me," he began, with effort, to recall the brief hours he'd spent with Clark Kent, "He-- isn't afraid of violence. But when such situations occur, he has a tendency to pretend to be a coward. He avoids conflicts with others." His brain was hooking together the way Kent had been thrown onto the ground by the kidnappers, and the way he'd fallen unnaturally in that alley. "Sometimes, I think he's feigning clumsiness. But I'm not sure why."

"It could just be that he's a nice guy who hates to get into fights with people," Dick answered mildly, "You know, especially in a place like Gotham, where you might be arguing, arguing along, and then suddenly your intestines have fallen out of your abdominal cavity."

This made Bruce recall the argument between Kent and himself. "No." He shook his head. "He's unwavering in his beliefs. He doesn't have a predilection for blindly following anyone. I would use stubborn as a better descriptor. He didn't try to alter my beliefs, but at the same time, he would never shrink from making his own opinions known." Bruce screwed up his face slightly. "And then sometimes, he likes to take control of the situation, but this isn't too serious."

"You mean-- in comparison to your level of wanting to be in control, this isn't serious, or it's not serious according to a normal person's standards?"

"......" Bruce apportioned a part of his brain to think over whether Dick was mocking him, "A normal person's levels."

"The way this sounds, even though his personality doesn't match with his habit of pretending to be weak in the face of violence......" Right, someone who would easily shrink away wouldn't display such congealed stubbornness. But then, the kidnapper and the gun-wielding thugs weren't the type to display any heroics against, "But overall, he's still not really......"

"He's nothing but a lowly employee of _The Daily Planet_ , Dick," Bruce leaned back -- he still hadn't removed his light armor, oh well. "I searched out and read his work records for the last five years. Even though he's earned a few commendations from the paper, aside from reporting on Superman, he rarely actively competes for the top position." When he'd been in Kent's lap, he'd looked down on him from above. Kent had a pair of moving, deep blue eyes...... "He seems to be content to be a small cog. However, tell me, Dick, a person who likes to lead, who's stubborn as hell, who doesn't change his opinions easily -- when such a person has the chance to become the leader and not a follower, what's the probability that he does nothing?"

"But he could be venting his obstinacy in places other than his work. You know......"

"The vast majority of his reporting, especially for _The Daily Planet_ , once he started to become more respected, were very...... sharp. I don't think he's a weakling type of person who's completely harmless at his work." Even if he could pretend to be weak, Bruce thought to himself. He remembered when he'd grabbed the man's suited shoulderline.

"He doesn't seem to like to be at the top, a similar tendency to how he dresses. Most people, even if they notice his suit is overly large, will only think he bought something ill-fitted. However, Kent is six feet three inches, and his figure is heavily built, so a normal suit for him would be a size 48 or upwards, but his clothing is bigger than the size of his actual body by more than just a tick, I would estimate at least around two sizes. Is it because a size 50 is less expensive? First disregarding how much _The Daily Planet_ invests in pay for its star reporters, clothing in extra large sizes have to be specially made, and even if not discounted, the customers they're targeted for will have to accept them. Under this financial bias, a size 50 should be on the side of more expensive than a size 48, so, no, this hypothesis doesn't hold water." Bruce's speech quickened, "I'm guessing he wants to hide something, and he's purposely chosen an ill-fitting outfit like that one to hide his figure." Just like that pair of glasses.

Bruce again remembered those dark blue irises, how they watched him through those glasses. He had never seen such bright eyes, not cornflower, and not violet, but more like multiple layers of blue slowly spread out in a halo around his whole world. And when Bruce had leaned close, Kent's pupils had also dilated slightly, that expression like he'd seen some kind of sparkling treasure, it made him think of--

The lens flashed a streak of piercing white light.

Bruce first heard the clang of his shoulder armor hitting the ground, before he realized he had actually thrown down what he'd been holding. He blinked, a bit surprised, "Where had I gotten to?"

"You were saying that he hides his figure...... Bruce," Dick put his hand on his arm, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Bruce shook Dick's hand away. He was busy trying to resuscitate that abruptly dying answer that had risen in the depths of his mind, only to have been forgotten. The feeling irked him, like a hunter who knew he'd hit a rabbit but couldn't find a trace of his quarry. "He's six foot three," Bruce rubbed his lips. This height sounded familiar. Six foot three, that was Superman's height. Was this a common height? One-point-nine-one meters, but Kent didn't look that tall. Anyone who saw an image of Kent interviewing Superman would be surprised, because they would discover that the two men were exactly equal in height and......

His ears rang with a sound like a short-circuiting loudspeaker. Bruce must have dropped a few curse words, because when he'd recovered his sight, he noticed Dick was standing in front of him, trying to press Bruce back into his seat. Had he been about to suddenly jump to his feet? Or had he already jumped to his feet?

"Bruce," Dick spoke again, "Listen, I'm going to wake Alfred......"

"Kent is giving information to Superman."

"......" Dick blinked, "I'm sorry, what?"

"He's giving information to Superman, he's a spy for Superman." Bruce seized tightly onto the last thought he'd had the second before he'd suddenly lost consciousness, "Everything he sees gets reported to Superman, and if this is true, then everything can be explained." Superman's strange reactions, or Kent's fearlessness about......

......There was still something not quite right. Bruce frowned. Even if he was a spy for Superman, and that was why he was hiding his identity and maintaining a low profile, that still didn't explain Superman's attitude. Why wouldn't Superman tell him all this directly? It couldn't be because......

All the clues were laid out on the table, but he just couldn't string them together in one logical way. This made him extremely annoyed. If, he thought, if I had one more puzzle piece, if, Superman had said a few more words, if Kent had let slip a few more facts, if he had succeeded then in removing those glasses from that damned abominable face--

Why was he so obsessed with those glasses?

"Bruce." Dick said solemnly, "I have to wake Alfred. He'll examine you, and I'll get you something to eat......"

"I don't eat cereal and milk." He turned his chair abruptly, and after a few strokes of the keyboard, he saw the tracker's location-- It was already leaving the Gotham Police Station, so Kent had retrieved his wallet. All of his IDs were in there. His plane tickets...... Today at 11:00, flight number GT371. If he left now for Metropolis...... No, he wouldn't make it in time, and Metropolis was as orderly as scales on a fish, so it was different from Gotham, which had numerous hiding spots, it was brighter, wider, unsuitable for Batman to be active in during daylight hours. As for Bruce Wayne, what would be the reason for him to suddenly visit a cheap apartment in Metropolis? But at least this could be recorded, since there would come a day when he would ambush Kent's nest. If he temporarily lacked any threads to pull on this side for Kent......

He typed on the computer, and the Justice League's invitation to all its financial supporters for the tour tomorrow afternoon appeared on screen. Already, more than a few people had accepted, and Bruce would be mixed into that crowd. And Superman, who had made the request to Batman about meeting Bruce, wouldn't have any reason to skip the dinner reception afterwards.

Let's allow Brucie to meet up with Superman, who was similarly hiding a belly full of secrets from Bruce. Superman was familiar with Batman, but he couldn't possibly be familiar with Brucie. He couldn't really be used to Brucie's mannerisms, so if he wanted to put up a front of imperturbability--

Then Brucie could perturb away.

It was time for our Metropolis Boy Scout to have a taste of the side of Gotham style that wasn't severe and heartless. Bruce leaned back in his chair, satisfied and smug.

An active offense wasn't a special weapon that belonged only to Superman.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't exactly difficult to find Superman in a crowd. Actually, all he had to do was stand there, and he would become the most visible person in the crowd -- at 1.91 meters tall, even if he stood fully on the ground, he still possessed the kind of grace that was difficult to achieve for those regular peasants bound by gravity all their lives. His trustworthy facial features revealed a uniquely alien style, one that no one who had the chance to share a room with him could possibly miss.

Bruce had known all this already, but even so that wasn't enough to solve his current difficulty -- the financial contributors and the companions they'd brought along, whose eyes were attracted like moths to firelight the moment Superman appeared in the Hall of Justice after the tour. They surrounded Superman tightly, making it very nearly impossible to approach him easily.

Furthermore, he suspected that Superman was avoiding him. Otherwise, how could you explain why one second, Superman was there speaking to someone in the direction that Bruce was trying to advance toward, and the next second, he had suddenly slipped away to save the world.

"Well, aren't you busy. Looking for a chance to get close to Superman, hm?" Oliver Queen picked a moment to nudge Bruce's shoulder the third time he passed by. This West Coast playboy seemed to be interested in everything he saw, his jade green irises sparkling merrily under the light of the chandelier in the reception hall. "Don't tell me you're playing for real-- Are you _actually_ trying to get with him?"

At this, Bruce blew out a breath in frustration. "Don't be like this, Oliver." He stopped and turned with a small smile. "That's _Superman_."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. 'That's Superman'. But, even if he's Superman, he's still a solid heavyweight. What, Brucie, have you finally grown dissatisfied with those pretty little tricks? And here I thought this was all just rumors and your fetish for tights was fake......"

"Obviously, this has nothing to do with fetishes. With a face like that, he'd be enticing no matter what he's wearing. I have to admit, though, it's true, it's kind of strange for him to be wearing a skintight suit to fight crime. After all, when he's wearing a uniform like that, he's himself committing a kind of ......" He rubbed a thumb and forefinger together, "sex crime."

This made Queen stare at him for a moment, until at the same time, the two ill-reputed cads, needing no words between them, both let out their signature smirks. "So you have fantasies about heroes in tights?" 

"Exactly the opposite. The vast majority of them are weirdos."

"Yup." Queen agreed, "What normal person would stuff himself into a sexy costume like that and then try to fool everyone, including himself, into thinking that he's actually going out to fight crime?"

"Overcompensating."

"Totally perverted."

The fellow company presidents, pleased at how their opinions on heroes coincided, clinked glasses.

Bruce began to plan how to rid himself of this annoying imp.

"So, then," unfortunately, Queen spoke before he could. "What did you do to Superman to make him avoid you like a snake?"

"Maybe it's because I invited our Adam to share a beautiful apple." Bruce shrugged. "However, it looks like in the novels nowadays, rewarding a rescuer with a kiss isn't a fashionable sort of plot anymore."

"Of course, Brucie. Even if you are the pretty treasure of Gotham, bullying the Boy Scout of Metropolis like this will get you enemies. _However_ ," Oliver said quickly, his eyes shining in a way that Bruce detested. "I rather think, when you kissed him, he didn't seem as unwilling as he is now-- Have you noticed? You could say he's been running away from you today. Even aside from when he's surrounded by a crowd, he hasn't enjoyed even a few minutes of privacy......"

In fact, sometimes, I even suspect that he's secretly watching you. Queen suddenly leaned close to speak in his ear.

It was an investigatory sally, the same kind of investigatory sally that came from someone who also _happened to_ have a CEO who was "dedicated to the position", coincidentally enabling his family business to nip at the heels of Wayne Enterprises on the Forbes lists, the same that made Bruce glare sharply at Queen. Stop fooling around, Oliver. His eyes seemed to be saying, You think _you_ can take me on?

Then, the next second, the pride of a true playboy caused Bruce to smile. At a moment like this? He would _never_ lose to Oliver, pretending to be all innocent, pretending to stumble over someone else's secrets by pure accident. Wasn't it just a pretense of naivete, seeing as Brucie with his idiot brain had been sweeping through the fair country when Queen was still in some forgotten corner, biting his thumb with envy.

"Do you know?" He spoke kindly, his eyes staring at Superman, loosening his tie with a modicum of reserve, "I think you're making sense. Superman might just be waiting for me to find him. Oh, he must be furious at me, because several days after I kissed him, I didn't go see him. Isn't that cute, Ollie? An old-fashioned gentleman like him would have to be this pure and good. You won't meet many people like this anymore, someone who waits for the gentleman to visit the door, finally allowing a lightly brushed kiss on the back of the hand only after the third date......"

For a just a tiny moment, Brucie made even himself sick with this speech, but then he saw Queen's carelessly exposed expression of "How can you be so shameless", and he felt it was all worth the price of the ride.

"--And then, with a look of complete shyness, they'll empty out our gentlemanly wallets." He laughed out loud. "Give me a break, Bruce. You're right, when it comes to emptying our wallets, Superman sure puts in the extra mile-- But, I think, if I keep interfering with your hunt, even you might start to think I'm a little too socially awkward. Well, then, I wish you luck, hey? If you manage to pick him up, I welcome you to bring him to my yacht parties any time. Do you think he'll let you put sunblock lotion on him? Oh, silly me, Superman doesn't need sunblock, since he lives off photosynthesis, doesn't he......"

***

A correction.

It wasn't difficult to see Superman in a crowd.

However, if he were purposely avoiding you, then even this simple task would become very difficult.

In a brief half an hour, Bruce saw how Superman could be in the corner of the room chatting with someone one second, and then in the work of an inattentive moment, he could be in the center of the room interacting cheerfully with another group of people. In any case, every time Bruce thought he'd locked on to him, he could always slip away silently while Bruce was squeezing his way through.

However, if Superman were counting on Bruce giving up in the face of this, then he was seriously underestimating the sheer paranoia and stubbornness of Batman that caused the JL to run for cover-- You could say that Superman from certain aspects was as stubborn as an ox, and Batman was overwhelmingly more so in other ways. One hand couldn't clap. Even Batman had never claimed that all of the arguments between Superman and himself were completely and totally Superman's fault.

(Although a part, _let me emphasize_ , a large part was.)

So, when he started to stare at Superman with a manner filled with longing, not at all hiding the thirsty admiration in his eyes, something that even a blind person would notice and feel compelled to tell Superman, "That Wayne guy is staring at you", and even try to directly refer Bruce to Superman, then the little devil in Bruce's heart began to play a march of triumph.

The part of his heart that wasn't so devilish was occupied with acting out the shy innocence of someone whose crushee had at last noticed him. Superman reluctantly turned his head, and so he quickly ducked his eyes, though continuing to watch him through his long eyelashes. Anyone could see how absolutely twitterpated he was by this Son of Krypton. A 1.88 meter adult man acting this way was rather too much...... but.

See, Queen? This old hand has gained one goddamn point!

Superman had to know that Bruce was doing this on purpose, and Bruce knew that Superman knew that Bruce was doing this on purpose, if only because Superman had to pretend not to know even if he did. This increased Bruce's triumphant joy by five times.

Fuck. The angel part of Bruce was singing an aria ode of triumph. I could play like this for _an entire day_.

Anyway, now he was being pushed to Superman's side. He knew Superman would never be able to get rid of him -- not unless he wanted the newspaper tomorrow to be filled with tabloid gossip like "Mom and Dad fighting and neglecting the kids? Justice League Chair and its largest financial contributor having words, future of the Justice League at stake". The richest man in the whole world and the strongest man in the whole world, just this pairing alone was enough to draw the attention of the entire reception hall.

Without even mentioning, the two of them were the prettiest people in the room.

This straitjacket of attention made Superman sigh, imperceptibly but long. When he did this, he probably didn't realize that this attitude of helpless stoicism, in Bruce's eyes, made him the most intriguing and attractive he ever was. Although this metaphor might be inappropriate, it was as if Superman were a large dog that was being bothered to the edge of sanity by a toddler who had just learned to walk, and yet he still lay obediently in front of the fireplace, allowing the child to paw over him as it wished. His actions disclosed a kind of infinite patience, and this patience was perfect proof of how he would humor and coddle someone, rather, how he deeply loved all of humankind.

Bruce liked the moments when Superman unconsciously showed his great feelings toward humanity. This made him feel safe, and not only that, but a strange feeling of tenderness would sprout in him.

Maybe it was because every night, he would use the same expression to look out over the Gotham that belonged to himself. It could also be because this made him think of how Superman looked every time when he would try to bear things stoically but would start to secretly complain under his breath.

"I wasn't anticipating your visit at my door." Superman explained, while still offering half an arm, allowing Bruce the option to place his hand in his elbow.

Of course Bruce placed his hand there, filled with a childish sense of triumph. "You were eavesdropping on me."

"That doesn't count as eavesdropping." Superman answered, "Your voice is too loud."

"If I hadn't wanted you to hear and yet you heard me, then no matter the reason, you were eavesdropping." Bruce began to play the rogue, things having become even easier to handle than he'd expected. "You're invading my privacy, Mr. Superman."

"Privacy." Superman didn't manage to resist laughing, though he aimed it toward the ground. "Are you like this with everyone?"

"What?"

"First, you fluster a person to death, and then you turn around and say that that person is invading your privacy."

Bruce blinked, "Oh," he asked, "have I flustered you?"

"I asked you a question first, Mr. Wayne."

"But I never said I would answer." Bruce, smiling, said, "Look, if I hadn't flustered you, then your hypothesis would be disproven from the start. And if I had flustered you......"

"Then?" Superman raised his eyebrows slightly. This was cheating on his part, actually, since if it had been any other person there besides Bruce, he would have been twitterpated beyond reason by Superman's there-and-gone-again smile, enough to have forgotten the question he had first posed.

But who was Bruce? Why, he was suave playboy Brucie, known the world over for his numerous passions. Just like Superman in this area, he was a high roller who could play the whole field and win it all based on his looks alone -- of course he knew where his own charms lay.

When God had created all the creatures, he'd been truly generous to Bruce. A tall, wide figure, strong physique, a gentlemanly mien that was handsome with a touch of casualness, a face that no one couldn't like, and finally that pair of eyes that were like ice when sharp and like water when smiling-- If Superman's beauty came from his bravery and persistence that was more than anything in nature, then Bruce's charisma was the final apex of careful culturing of all the best of humanity.

And now, this beautiful man who, like Superman, could shoot an arrow into a person's heart with a single, careless glance, stroked his fingers suggestively over that skintight suit, until the two of them had been pulled closer, to an intimate state with no space between them. "We could discuss...... something more worth discussing." He said slyly.

Superman maintained that calm, half-invisible smiling visage while he looked at him, until his eyes suddenly flashed. "Don't be like this." He murmured.

"What?"

"Just like this," he reverted to his usual tone of voice, as if he'd taken that moment, where he'd accidentally revealed what shouldn't be a part of Superman, and hidden it away again behind his mask, "Of course you know how skilled you are at discombobulating people, don't you, Mr. Wayne?"

"If you're talking about how good-looking I am," Bruce said smilingly, "then that's hardly my fault."

"Exactly the opposite," Superman was quite serious, "I rather think that your charm comes from somewhere else. To tell the truth, you are an extremely handsome person, Mr. Wayne, there's no reason to deny such an obvious truth. However, I rather think, sir, that your powers of attraction might originate exactly from the fact that you don't care much about that-- I've never met anyone like you, able to utilize it so casually to barter for what you want, and yet this unveils how contemptibly you view this great advantage of yours. Rather than say that I'm charmed by your outward appearance, you could instead say that I'm attracted by that attitude underneath it."

This made Bruce blink. For just a moment, he'd nearly forgotten what he'd been about to say, so that when he smiled, the smile was somewhat unnatural. "You're accusing me of flustering other people, but you're using these grand compliments to put me right on cloud nine. Who ever said that Superman can't be slick with his words? Tell me the truth-- how many people have you fooled with this upright appearance?"

At this, Superman lowered his eyes. Maybe Bruce shouldn't have said that, because for a fleeting moment, a kind of strange dark shade flashed across his eyes. It was as if at some unspecified point, Bruce had unwittingly trampled on his true feelings.

He was, after all, not a player on the field of love.

"Please spare me, Mr. Wayne." Superman said softly, "I shouldn't be speaking to you so casually, sir. So, what did you want with me?"

Bruce blinked lightly, a kind of impulse that he didn't give voice to nevertheless making him push at Superman's arm. "Don't say that," he said in a low voice, "Can't I simply want to see you?"

Not even Bruce himself believed these words as they left his mouth, never mind Superman, who had seen who knows how many of the cards that made up Bruce's hand. But Superman didn't expose him.

Bruce wanted to make his mouth go soft again, but, "You were the one who started avoiding me." He averted his gaze elsewhere. "Don't deny it," his original intention had been to say this in a pleasant, moving way, but now it sounded more like a late night bell in a graveyard, "Why?"

Superman was silent for half a moment, "Maybe," he said, "I finally realized the truth of something a friend said: 'I should stay away from you, sir', this would be better for the both of us."

"This would be better for the both of us." Bruce repeated it in a low voice. Almost immediately, he was provoked into a fury by Superman's dreary tone. "So, this is your reason?"

"You capricious little thing." If Bruce hadn't learned a bit of Kryptonian, he might have thought Superman was mumbling some nonsense syllables. But when he spoke again, he said something completely different. "Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr. Wayne?"

This 180-degree change confused him, and he glanced sharply at Superman.

Superman was distracted, staring at the crowds in the reception hall, and at this very moment, he looked completely unlike the gentleness with which he'd looked upon humankind at the start-- Now, he looked like an outsider, someone who was out of step, surreptitiously observing everything around himself.

And whether it was intentional or not, Bruce was now standing on the same side as he was.

"This depends on what you honestly mean by that." He was very careful, but at the same time he spoke with a touch of violence, "Of course I know love at first sight exists in the world......"

"What I asked was, whether you believe in it." Superman spoke, as he turned to look at Bruce for a second, and then hurriedly turned away again. You might think it strange that you could see so many emotions from that one look.

"I'm rather curious why you would ask something like that." Bruce answered without giving an inch. "Did something happen? Have you fallen for me at first sight? Are all those B-grade fantasy-fulfillment Superman novels right?"

"I have a friend," he said with no exposition or followup, "he's a Gothamite like you, and I'm always trying to guess what he's thinking. At times, I think I can't understand him, and maybe Metropolis and Gotham just aren't compatible in some ways."

"However," Superman paused for a while, then spoke again, "I do wonder, does he believe in love at first sight, or the idea that familiarity will give rise to feelings over time? This is very important to me......"

Bruce paused for a while, he was considering whether he should go into yet more detail. Naturally, he could say, "Oh, but what does this have to do with me?" But so far, this topic still counted as safe. Even if Bruce knew which friend he was talking about, and Superman knew that Bruce knew which friend he was talking about, in the end, that was merely an illusory, indistinct friend.

This was assuredly the limit of Superman's tolerance. Bruce couldn't pretend to blindly step over that limit.

"Then do you believe in it?" he asked in reply. "All this stuff you're saying, familiarity giving rise to feelings, love at first sight-- are these really important? The important thing in the end isn't whether your friend believes in this or not, I think, but what you think about all this."

I'm not that friend for you, he all but wrote across his forehead, I'm merely an innocent rich guy passing by.

His expression teased Superman into a smile. If he could be happier, this smile would be even brighter. "You're right, Mr. Wayne. The biggest problem may be that-- I don't believe."

"You don't believe?"

"I sometimes ponder over -- even if this isn't like Superman, but sometimes I'm troubled by some human anxieties -- I ponder over just what it is to be in love with someone? How do humans discern whether they love or don't love something? At times, I rather think, some things are destined from the start. I think, perhaps all of us have experienced some instances of being pursued madly by someone, yet not feeling anything. Perhaps we've all experienced, when you know one thing will be better for yourself than another thing, but we still would rather choose the things that hurt us. Humans are a category of things that troubles me, but I often discover that I'm myself a link in the things that confuse me-- just like when I was little, I knew broccoli was better for the body, but I still like junk food."

"What's your point?" Bruce said brusquely, "I haven't heard what you're actually getting at."

Superman laughed. You're only pretending not to understand, he said with his eyes. "It's simple: I'm pursuing a certain friend, and I thought he also enjoyed my pursuit -- but some things that happened recently have made me suspect otherwise. I'm thinking, am I able to inspire feelings in him?"

"What you're saying is," Bruce controlled his cold indictment, this was sounding like a threat, "if you think you can't, then you'll give up."

Superman laughed at this, "No," he said, "I won't. I already said, whether I fall in love or not, that's not something I can control on my own."

"But if this is something that bothers my friend, then maybe I should be more careful." Superman added, "I don't want him to feel guilty, or make any decisions only with the hopes of maintaining our current relationship."

"How will you determine if it's really a bother." Bruce heard himself say coldly. "Have you asked him?"

"No, not really." Superman ruminated. "No matter what, interrogating him on this directly without any introduction would be too much. He'd be incensed."

"Then," Bruce continued in a tone of pure nonjudgment, "I don't see what the earth-shattering problem is-- From what you've said, there hasn't been any unusual behavior from him, and this is how humans interact. If they become annoyed, they'll stand up and leave."

"I would much rather believe that some people would be willing to spend a lifetime together with someone else, even if, at the bottoms of their hearts, they don't hold a bit of romantic love." Superman gave him a penetrating look. "This wouldn't be an unendurable hardship for me. But whether it is that way or not is very important to me."

"This friend won't answer your feelings but also won't stop stringing you along. Sounds like a cock-teasing poser." Cold-blooded, Bruce told him, "You have terrible taste."

"I rather think," Superman calmly replied, "it's because there's a depth of feeling that most people can't reach layered hidden in his heart. If he were willing to let me love him, that would be a kindness from him. And if he wants to take it back, I would also like to know, so that I'll know not to bother him too much. To love a person is easier than to accept a person's love. I love him, so, I owe him."

Again, the two of them were silent for a while. They weren't fighting, but the entire reception hall of people -- those who had eyes anyway -- could tell that they weren't far away from it.

Once again, the one who returned to smiling was Superman, you see, he's here, Superman, our old friend, always the guy making peace at the critical juncture. "I hope I'm not overburdening you, Mr. Wayne," he spoke then, "Sometimes, I also want......"

"You've said a lot." Bruce said, "But it sounds like you don't much care what the other person thinks. Have you really fallen in love before?"

"......" Superman looked at him in consternation, as if he'd been confused, "No," he said hesitantly, "I think I haven't, although I had an experience once that was very similar, but......"

But, you _would_ just offhandedly leak the news that Superman had once nearly came close to having a romantic relationship. He purposely ignored the fact that a few minutes before, Superman had told him some things that were much more explosive in comparison. "Your ideas," he said, "pardon my directness, they sound like a little virgin boy talking to himself. This is like a one-man show on stage, but Hamlet is about a million years out of fashion with us Gothamites, if you ask me."

"......What do you mean?" Superman now looked truly confused.

"I mean, it's inescapably comical for a Boy Scout who's never kissed another person, never held another person's hand, never actually had the feeling of going on a date with someone, and has never truly known what love is to be discussing this." Bruce laughed, his voice light and cold, coupled with some of the hoarseness that an older man would have. "If I've offended you, then I'll apologize. But I really suggest you collect some real battle stories. Romance novels won't help you in this regard."

"......Then what will help me." Superman controlled his annoyance and regarded him. It was precisely this expression, angry and upset but unable to let out his anger, that made Bruce unable to control his urge to laugh.

How could there be someone like this on Earth. What moron on Earth would fall for an idiot like this.

"For instance." He grabbed Superman by the symbol on his chest and dragged him forcefully to a more appropriate angle. Everyone in the reception hall was watching, but who cared, after all, one more embarrassing piece of Brucie news or one less didn't matter anymore.

"Close your eyes and tilt your head." He spoke the order, "Now, I'm going to force a kiss on you. Afterwards, go home, take this heap of ridiculous ideas of yours and throw them in the trash can, read a few fewer detrimental novels. Also, your breath on the exhale is tickling my face, so stop breathing in a moment, got it?"


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm going to say something next. Don't, for any reason, be afraid."

"We're professional reporters, Mr. Queen. We won't be afraid."

"I just saw," the president of Queen Industries, young Oliver Queen, faced the camera lens with eyes that betrayed severe distraction. "I saw the Chair of the Justice League grabbed in a kiss by their financial contributor. He was kissed forcibly-- Bruce Wayne actually forced a kiss on Superman, aaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

***

"You know." Dick Grayson turned down the volume of the interview channel on which President Queen was making that eardrum-piercing, high-pitched shriek, and he turned his head to speak to Bruce with all righteous seriousness, "When I said that I absolutely longed for Superman to be my guardian and sign my report cards, I was only joking-- You didn't need to get so desperate, okay, Bruce?"

Huh. After hiding his face behind the _Gotham Gazette_ paper, pretending not to see the photo that accompanied the headline on the front page, "Bruce Wayne forced a kiss on Superman! Gigolo Wayne is a hero among men!", the man uttered a cold 'huh', even though this didn't normally signify a bad mood on his part, only signifying that his mouth was crammed full of breakfast cookies.

"Really." Dick said, "If you want me to feel burdened with guilt, then I'm telling you, you've succeeded. I'm wracked with guilt. Other people sell out their friends for glory, but I've sold out my dad for a super. You really don't need to go to these lengths for me, okay, Bruce?"

"It had nothing to do with you." Without changing expression, Bruce turned another page. "Don't read too much into it."

There was a length of silence. "......So, Bruce." He heard Dick pause between each word, asking carefully and yet with perfect diction. "You mean, it was completely your own idea, voluntarily, with no ulterior reasons...... that you went and kissed Superman?"

He very nearly replied, yes. _Very_ nearly.

The _very_ nearly here was embodied by how, in one swift move, he rolled his newspaper up and with terrifying quickness smacked a bullseye on Dick's wrist, then seized the digital recorder that had been stuck almost to the edge of his own mouth.

"Ow!" Dick yelled in pain, "Bruce! You didn't have to hit that hard! Can you see around corners? How did you see that?!"

Huh. This time, Bruce gave voice to a cold laugh. He refused to answer this kind of low-intelligence question, there was nothing that Batman couldn't see-- Thinking this, he flipped the newspaper in his hand back open -- where had he read to?

"No, but really." Dick, uncowed and unforgiving, turned a circle around Bruce, "Even if you don't plan to come out publicly and tell me you love him, you ought to tell me in detail, for instance, what exactly it felt like to kiss Superman. How's his kissing technique? Was he clumsy, or is he endowed with supernatural talent? What did his lips taste like, were they soft or hard like steel? Oh, right, I also want you to provide more opinions on how it felt to tangle tongues with him. At this rate, do you think I'll have the chance of catching you and him on a late-night secret tryst one day when I'm on patrol? When can you get him to tell you whether he's wearing a second pair of underwear under his tights or not? I'm super curious about that......"

"Dick," Bruce said coldly. "Even if Superman doesn't wear underwear under his tights, I wouldn't allow you to go commando under your scaly green shortpants. Give it up."

"Aw, Bruce, you old fossil." Dick nattered on, "You kissed Superman! You! Kissed! Super! Man! Do you know how many people could take just that and make a giant headline with the words The Three Minutes In Which I Kissed Superman? That's not even mentioning how all this has negatively affected my mental health......"

"Your mental health?"

"You kissed Superman and didn't bring me along!!!!" Dick screamed hoarsely. "You two didn't bring me-- Why did you betray me, Bruce!"

Bruce thought it was necessary to place the newspaper down on the breakfast table: "......What has Superman and myself kissing got to do with you?"

"What does it have to do with me? For god's sake, Bruce, you really have to pay more attention to the times. This person in front of you right now isn't some rando, I'm the chair representative member of the Superman and Batman World's Finest Partners Fan Club. I even scrimp and save every month to fund the club's operations......"

"Alfred. Starting next month, cut Dick's allowance in half."

"You miser! I scrub your dishes, and you only give me five bucks! But that's not important right now," so dizzy with worshipping his OTP that he'd put aside losing half of his allowance, Dick Grayson was in utter distress, "The point is, you and Superman kissed! There were people all around on site -- and the best man wasn't me! Ah, it was a movie with three characters, but somehow I was the only one who didn't make the credits......"

"I think you're moving too far ahead," Bruce said coldly, "And another thing, what has that Brucie and Superman kissing have to do with me, Batman?"

"Ah, but I've also secretly donated to the Brucie and Superman Fan Club...... Hey, Bruce, don't go, Bruce!" He grabbed Bruce, who had been preparing to get up, and dragged him back into his seat-- Although Bruce hadn't really been planning to leave, since he hadn't yet finished his breakfast coffee. "No, I mean, for reals. You and Superman, what's going on with the two of you, are you two......"

"This is my private affair, Grayson."

"But, look. Batman, if he were to get together with Superman, wouldn't the Justice League have to be reconfigured? Would you have to change all those contingency or whatever plans of yours? Will bad guys use this as a weak point? So you see, Batman and Superman getting together, is this really private, or is it a public affair?"

This was hard to say, wasn't it?

If it weren't for the fact that Bruce was sure and certain that Dick was only interested in gossip, then from some certain considerations, he could be persuaded by Grayson.

But he was sure, because he was the sagacious Bruce.

"You can come discuss this with me at such time as when Batman and Superman really start trending on Twitter's searches." Bruce said, "As regarding Brucie, he's merely a kissing machine without feelings."

"A deal's a deal, Bruce." Faced with this, Bruce suddenly felt a strong sense of dread. The next second, Dick, with lightning speed, had pulled out a mobile phone and opened a page. "'I-- I should have been first. For Gotham, for Brucie scandals... Why has it come to this? Why are you so familiar with each other! Just how many times have you met in secret?! I'm a former supporting role! Just how far in the cold will you shove me before you're satisfied?! Is a three-person band such a bad idea?! You're a worthy foe, you Metropolites......'"

For a while, Bruce seriously considered the possibility of confiscating Dick Grayson's phone until college applications.

The main reason was how Superman had reported Dick's habit of playing with his phone on the sly during patrols. That's right, it was all Superman's fault, his justice from on high.

"But." Before Bruce had made the dire decision to reach out the steel fist of justice, Dick squirreled his phone away in one move. Now, he sat next to Bruce on the table and began again to pretend to be a big brother confidante (gossiper). "You really haven't told Superman that you're actually Batman? He really...... doesn't know?"

I'm sure I never told Superman I was Batman, Bruce thought. However, whether Superman knows Bruce is Superman, he probably does know after all.

This would explain everything at once. When Bruce had first gone to kiss him, Superman hadn't ducked it at all. And later, when, during an interaction with Kent, due to a malicious manipulation, he'd let slip that he admired Superman, following that, Superman had proactively requested to meet Bruce. Who could have known that the next time, Bruce would climb into the lap of Superman's informant -- that dirty spy! That perfectly explained why Superman had acted so strange that night.

There seemed to still be something missing. He thought, the problem should still be with the reporter.

But anyway, "I didn't tell him."

"......Good lord." Dick sat back down, "Superman cheated with Brucie. He doesn't love Batman. My OTP has been torn apart."

But what can I do, Dick said, of course my only choice is to forgive him.

"Stop thinking about this stuff." Bruce said, "No matter how you look at it, Brucie can't be turned into Batman."

"But," Dick said. "You were the one who kissed Superman, it wasn't Superman who kissed Brucie. So if Brucie can do it, Batman can do it-- If there's a next time, if there's another chance, for instance if Superman confesses to you, to Batman, or something like that, do you think you'll agree? Would you really accept it?"

This was a question that Bruce gave a rare, brief moment of serious thought to. "It's hard to say." Perhaps it depended on how persistent Superman got, but he knew that if Superman planned to say it, he would assuredly be extremely persistent. However, Superman had yet to formally confess to him, and he didn't want Dick to get too smug. "I'll hold my analysis until I have real facts in a real situation."

"I understand what you mean," Dick said. "So then, when you get married, can I be the best man? Can I take a picture and post it to the Fan Club as a memento? What do you think those people will say? Batman arrests and captures a heart, and all the Gotham infighting was for _his_ sake! Was it money or a pure, honest heart that finally caught Superman's favor? Ah, wait, Bruce, don't go, Bruce!"

***

As for young Dick's bunch of nattering, old fogey, housewifely behavior, Bruce had no comment-- After all, Grayson's imaginings could only run wild on this level. However, Bruce was a different matter, since he was a man with a vast breadth of experience and classy tastes. He had jobs that needed doing that were not kissing Superman or talking with Superman about issues stemming from feelings. For example, getting a handle on everything Clark Kent was about.

So, you see, it wasn't as if all of his thoughts ran back to and around Superman. He was a professional.

But of course, that wasn't to say that he hadn't recalled what it'd felt like to really kiss Superman. That moment had happened amid nonsensical chaos, while he was somewhat angry and wishing Superman would shut up, and mixed in with an unexplainable feeling of regret.

It seemed that he really had kissed Superman, right? But that was as if Precious Brucie weren't appearing in various places every month with his arms around three supermodels. Although, he did rarely kiss people in public...... but Superman.

Superman's lips were actually not as hard as most people imagined. In actuality, they were soft when bitten and were kind of...... cute (childish, Bruce corrected -- his brain must have problems to be calling a 1.91 meter man cute), right, cute (no he meant to say childish), cute (fuck, fine, cute) and minty. A single taste, and you could tell he was a good little boy who brushed his teeth. Also, well, well he was really, really very, that is, pure, I guess. Fuck, using this word to describe Superman was honestly a bit gross, anyway, never mind. In any case, when Bruce really kissed Superman, he hadn't even opened his mouth, he'd been, been kind of, he'd gone into _shock_.

A Superman in shock was a little bit, just a little bit like a scared rabbit, even though it was rare to find a 1.91 meter rabbit, damn it, could his brain please stop constructing these weird descriptions. But, not knowing to open his mouth, and not only that but his shoulders bunching together, that Superman had definitely been in shock, totally gone. He, he'd looked dazed -- and if Bruce hadn't grabbed his arm quick as anything and pressed him down, he'd suspected for a moment that in the next second, Superman might have floated up while still in their kissing pose. He was just, just, the cute type. Fuck, how many times had he said to stop using the word cute. But, but that's how it was.

Damn it. Stock still in Batman's battle armor, maintaining an expression of seriousness, Bruce thought.

Why was Superman, why was there an unbelievably annoying being like Superman on this planet? At first, oh yeah, he'd spouted a calm, interminable string of damned logical-seeming philosophical theories, love and no love and crapping around and whatever the heck. But then when the theories became tests in reality, just a simple touch of lips made him react in that "Oh my god I'm gonna die!" way. When Bruce had really squeezed his tongue in there, this man whose eyes were wide as saucers and who had no idea how to build up a mood had been practically terrified.

You're vulgar, Bruce. His eyes had expressed this with undeniable clarity. And all Bruce had been thinking was, fuck, you call this vulgar? Compared to the type of play that Brucie normally got up to, this was the purest of the pure. Was this goddamn thing considered a forced kiss? This was barely even a damned smooch, okay? Kal-El, let me tell you, what we're doing now can only be called a smooch, got it, the kind of smooch that little kids playing house did. You think _this_ is vulgar, and you goddamn want to pick up Brucie?

But, when Superman stood there, blushing red to his ears, only that pair of blue eyes still bright and staring at him, his gaze forced one into feeling nervous, nervous and simultaneously starting to make the person on the active side of the forced kiss feel, incomprehensibly, a bit guilty. Also, he was just, just looking like, if Bruce hadn't grabbed him, like he might float up right there and perform some kind of transformation in front of everyone. Just.

Kissing Kryptonians was just trouble.

And gave one a bit of a feeling of accomplishment.

Fuck.

Quite a lot of a feeling of accomplishment.

Why the goddamn hell should kissing a virgin boy give him any feeling of accomplishment, Bruce had absolutely no idea.

Fuck.

Luckily, Bruce didn't need to spend the entire night on recalling that stupid kiss between himself and Superman. He was Batman, and Batman didn't do romance and relationships, because he was a person who got the job done. This meant that, he was waiting for the dead of night, when he could sneak into Clark Kent's room to investigate-- If it weren't for the fact that Metropolis was filled with lookie-loos, and not only that, but the organized streets had almost no hiding places, then Bruce would have actually rather have taken action in the daytime, while Kent was out of his apartment. Still, it was unavoidable how Metropolis in daylight was simply no place for Gotham's Dark Knight. And Bruce couldn't use his Bruce Wayne identity and risk getting caught while sneaking into that apartment. The last thing he wanted was for him as Bruce Wayne to be prying open Clark Kent's front door lock and get accosted and given a passionate greeting by Kal-El, the protector of Metropolis whom he'd only just kissed forcibly in public and then ordered to go home and forget all about it.

Although he should already know Bruce was Batman, and taking that into account Superman should help Bruce with his work. But at least for a short while, he didn't want to see Superman's ugly mug -- and even less did he want to immediately accept his confession of love.

Even if he decided to accept it, dragging it out, even if only by one more day, had to be a good thing, right? He didn't want Superman to get too full of himself just yet. And every day without an acceptance was another day that he, Bruce Wayne, was free.

(Although in the eyes of the vast majority, he'd already come out publicly as belonging to a particular lover. Damn it. He hoped that the next time Bruce Wayne was kidnapped, the kidnapper wouldn't be some Gothamite super-fan supporter of the 'buy local' movement.)

With all this in mind, he decided that at 3AM, when it would be late and quiet, he'd infiltrate Clark Kent's room. He could move very lightly -- and Kent's room didn't have any high-tech defenses. He could install a few surveillance cameras, take the opportunity to flip through his papers, copy his computer, etc. With what could be called steadfast, devoted labor, he watched Kent work until 1AM, then watched him scroll through his phone in bed for a while -- he giggled while looking at who-knows-what -- and then he waited patiently for two hours after Kent had fallen asleep.

Then, he used the hook he'd devised in advance to pull open the small window in Kent's living room......

***

Actually, Kent's room, for all that it belonged to a possible sleeper agent, was honestly kind of all around blah. A sofa, a desk, a bookcase crammed with souvenirs and souvenir photos, plus two houseplants squeezed into the corners together made up the full contents of the living room and office. He probably really did like books. Some books were even stacked up along the hardwood floor. Romance novels, classic medieval novels, satirical realistic novels, philosophy, humanities, social studies...... If Kent really turned out to be clean, Bruce mused distractedly, maybe he could gift him an Amazon Kindle one-year membership for Christmas.

He even stopped to look a while at the photo on the bookcase, showing Kent at his high school graduation with his parents. The Kent in the photo wasn't wearing glasses, and he was smiling widely at the camera, looking...... rather handsomer than usual. Bruce narrowed his eyes for two seconds, and then he took a quick evidence photo with his miniature camera, deciding that he would analyze it closely after returning to the Batcave. The computer would need five more minutes to finish copying, so he could go take a look at Kent's other rooms.

Other than the bedroom, the apartment, which wasn't very large, had only a tiny bathroom and a pathetically small closet. Bruce left another two micro-surveillance cameras in the ceiling of the bathroom. Then, he decided to return to the living room to check whether the files were done. He pushed open the bathroom door......

And he found himself looking directly at Clark Kent, who had sat up, his face wary, staring at the bathroom with his blue eyes.

***

"......"

"......"

The atmosphere was a little awkward.

Not just the usual kind of awkward.

The just-woken man had clearly been surprised from his sleep by some sound. A pair of glasses hung crookedly across his nose, looking as if they might (or might not) fall right off. And after Batman had emerged, for some unfathomable reason, he strove quickly to push them up.

Pushed them up.

"You......"

"Er......"

They both spoke at the same time, and then fell silent at the same time as well.

How had things come to this? Bruce couldn't help but examine that question.

Kent seemed also to be at a loss in the face of the current situation. He looked at Batman for a while, then dropped his gaze to look at his own underwear-clad sleep-in-the-nude self.

He was at rest for three seconds.

Then, very slowly.

Very slowly and also firmly.

He pulled the white sheet beside him over his body.

The atmosphere became even more awkward.

"I didn't see anything. Dear god, I didn't see anything." As he spoke, he tried to hide even his head under the covers. "So the things that happen in those blue short films are actually true? My dear god, Batman really does break into people's homes and, and......"

And Bruce did not want to hear any sentence that put Batman and blue short films together.

Especially any sentence that spilled out of Kent's mouth.

Expressionless, he took two strides toward Kent.

"I-- I-- I--, I don't know anything." Hiding his head, Kent continued speaking. "Dear god, dear god, Batman is in my house, dear god, and I'm not wearing anything except a pair of underwear. But you can do whatever you want, and I won't yell or anything, I-- I'll guard your reputation to the grave, even if you push your way into my bedroom in the middle of the night. Heavens, my god."

Bruce yanked the sheet off of Kent's head.

Kent shrank into a small, pathetic ball. That pair of glasses was still on his nose.

"Do you need my help with anything?" He stuttered brokenly, "Did, Did I write something that offended you in my special article? Did you think that I bent the facts somewhere? But, all you have to do is send me mail, you know that, right? Only."

You're making me panic like this, he said. Say something, Batman.

At this, Batman couldn't help but smirk. Under the radiation of this smirk, Kent looked even more anxious. Repeatedly, he opened and closed his mouth, closed and then opened. "But, but what's all this for?" He blurted, "You couldn't actually have...... but......"

A normal adult man with nothing to hide wouldn't say something like that at a moment like this. So, after all, Kent had something to hide. The problem was, then, what that something was. As long as he'd already been discovered, he went ahead and openly swept his searching gaze over the room. The bedroom held -- other than bed, nightstand, and wardrobe -- an enormous cabinet. There was a cat bowl on the floor, even with a bit of cat food left in it, though Bruce hadn't seen a cat. He noted this in his internal list of suspicious points and decided to investigate it in detail later.

This enormous cabinet, however, made him uncomfortable. He decided to inspect it directly, right in front of the cabinet's owner.

"Wait!" Kent, who had been pretending he wasn't there, suddenly yelled out just before his hand took hold of the cabinet's handle, "Wait a moment, just that, just leave that alone--"

Who's going to listen to you. Bruce thought, the more you say no, the more I want to inspect it. I want to take a look at Superman's liaison's, Clark Kent's final secret--

Then, what happened next, although it was a bit of a coincidence, turned out to be perfectly carried through. Because Batman was highly suspicious of Clark Kent, even as he pulled open the cabinet, his focus was on Clark Kent. This was why when something suddenly leaped out at him from the cabinet, Bruce reacted without even thinking. With a backflip, he kicked out, and heard a sound: C _rack! Thud!_

The head of a Batman-sized custom figure -- having fallen forward under the overly violent opening of the door -- thus smashed into the wall next to Kent's head, fell, rolled a few times, then returned to the floor.

A Batman whose head was still sitting nicely on his shoulders stared expressionlessly at a Ninja Batman giant action figure that was now lying on the ground, headless.

......For fuck's sake, Bruce thought. Not even I was able to snag this figure in preorders.

"Ah...... ah, ah, ah------------" For the first time since Batman had entered Kent's home, he let out a long, nonmelodius outburst. Pulling the sheet around himself, he scrambled, all but falling over, to the edge of the bed, and what lay under his downcast gaze was the expressionless stare of the Ninja Batman's steely head.

"I---- You----" Was he really crying, his voice really sounded like it had a note of a sob in it. "Ah----"

As Kent was letting out an unbelievable wail over his deceased limited edition few-thousand-copy collector's artist's rendering idol doll, Bruce returned his measuring gaze to the titular cabinet in front of him.

Batman's batarangs, large Batman posters, Batman special edition articles, Batman 1:1 models, Batman human-sized body pillows, Batman action figures, Batman's Top Fifty Moments You Don't Want To Miss......

......

Even a set of Batman-themed weird magazine. Some Batman pins produced by some unknown small manufacturer, attached densely to a canvas shoulder bag embroidered with the words "I Love Batman" in giant font. The collection laid out here was truly breathtaking-- Bruce finally understood where the batarangs he threw but never was able to recover had gone to.

"Don't, don't confiscate them." Kent, his hands over his face as he continued to heave messy sobs over the head of his Batman figure, said, "Batarangs are really expensive on the black market."

......For the first time, Bruce thought that what Kal-El had said actually made some sense.

A normal villain.

A normal villain with a brain.

A villain who actually got things done.

Wouldn't be hiding so many Batmans in his own cabinet or commit any significantly evil acts while screaming over his damaged Batman figure.

The biggest crime that the Kent here could commit was probably, after waiting in line all night, to get into a brawl in front of a limited edition Batman figures' display case, fighting over the particular figure he wanted to buy.

"......" At long last, he began to feel a sense of mild guilt over his own oversensitivity and his slightly augmented suspicions-- If Kent really were a normal person, maybe after a while he could remove those surveillance devices. He could. After all, if his wireless signal were to be traced, even with the anonymizing signal converter in between, he still wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any problems. But he still felt that this night somehow had a flavor of farce-- Probably because anything that had the slightest tint of a relation to Superman inevitably wound up supremely farcical. He was reminded of his original plan to snatch off Kent's eyeglasses.

Even now, he could still snatch off Kent's glasses. If he really were to reach his hand out, he couldn't see how Kent could refuse him, or even dodge him. He could take a good look at just what had raised Bruce's suspicions to start with. He could.

But then he worried that if he were that persistent about those glasses, it might start Kent along some lines of thought. As he was considering this internally, in the spirit of "Sorry for bothering you I hadn't realized you were this kind of a pervert I wrongly accused you", he bent slightly and picked up the (toy) head that lay on the floor, its eyes staring hollowly at the ceiling.

"Thank, thank you......" Kent said, on the verge of tears. "When, when you come next time, could you, not be so...... drastic."

Even as he said that, he still reached out his hand for what Batman had picked up. Batman nearly thought about mailing him a check after he got back, but that would reveal his identity-- Well, he could always find a day to leave a stack of cash on his desk.

So distracted, he held out the model skull in his hand and placed it into Kent's outstretched hand.

Kent's outstretched hand.

"......"

It was well-articulated.

With long, elegant fingers.

Callus-less and flawless like jade.

And that way it was held out

that goddamned to hell, recognizable, large hand.

......dear god in heaven, Clark Kent.


	12. Chapter 12

............

When you discover that your coworker and good friend and soon-to-be romantic partner, someone universally acknowledged as a good, simple, trustworthy man, has actually been secretly collecting an entire cabinet full of life-sized figures of you, life-sized pillows of you, everything on the market available for sale to fans of you, and even clippings of special articles collecting your every word and step and action and movement -- what would you think? Would you say, Ah I am so moved by your doing all this for me?

Some people might, and some people might not.

As for Batman, forced now to come to terms with the fact that the good Superman whom he had trusted for years had turned out to be a Batman superfan perv, he thought he might not.

Thanks to the situation in front of him, his soul had suffered maximum damage -- to the point that, for an amount of time, he was rather unsure of what he was doing, merely expressionlessly giving Clark a dead-eyed stare. Clark, still hugging the head of the figure that Batman had handed him, had surely noticed something was wrong. He struggled for twenty seconds under the awkward atmosphere, then started to ask Batman if he were interested in looking at his Batman Merchandise Display.

Batman did _not_ want to look at his own merchandise display, but seeing as at the moment, his consciousness was far gone into the clouds and the nine layers of the heavens, had made a trip to Krypton, bought some souvenirs, even took in an episode of "The Bloody Battlefield of Me and the Person I've Been Flirting With and My Secret Admirer and My Lying Lies" on the way back, he couldn't quite figure out how he could refuse. In the current situation, it didn't seem appropriate to just take off and run. So, he nodded.

The two top level members of the League, the Justice League chair and consultant, turned their attention with the serious attitude of attending a funeral to Clark Kent's collection. Batman judged Mr. Kent to have been unfailingly tenacious in his collection duties, with the perfectionist attitude of a craftsman, and Mr. Kent then expressed again how Batman was his idol and had a unique place as a superhero in his heart. In all the world, there would never be anyone who promoted humankind the way Batman did. Solicitously, he asked after Mr. Batman's recent work, asserting that as a reporter for the City of Metropolis, he should do his job as a liaison to their sister city of Gotham......

But the air was still rather funereal, very funereal.

"Actually, I've just been considering buying a specialized transparent case to display these," Clark said, "but I haven't decided yet where to put it-- Do you think the living room would work? Or, I could put it beside this cabinet, in the corner of my bedroom?"

I don't want to know you've put a life-sized Batman in your bedroom don't you think that if you did that anyone else who came in here would after the first glance probably have a heart attack from fright even Dick doesn't have a life-sized Superman in his own room he's only changed all his underwear to Superman-symbolic primary colors wait Kent when he saw him just now what color was his underwear was it black was there some kind of strange pattern over it jesus he really didn't want to think about this.

Dick, Bruce thought with a thoroughly shaken soul, at least I can tell you one thing for certain.

Superman probably did wear another pair of underwear inside of his uniform, although I don't know whether you'd want to know what kind of underwear that is. Bruce couldn't say for sure whether Dick would see this as perverted or if he'd see this as Superman and Batman's noble rebellious romance, but he really worried that afterward, Dick might sneak into Bruce's wardrobe and change out his black cotton underwear.

Why do I have to be in Superman's room, thinking about underwear, Bruce thought. He absolutely didn't want to remain in this room. Especially after Clark had exhausted all the conversation topics he could find and could now only wrap himself pathetically in his sheet and use his innocent "I don't know anything" puppy eyes to stare at Bruce and wait to be told off. Because what could Bruce tell him off about? Right now, all he wanted was to turn sharply around, jump on the window sill, and, like a cat faced with a bathtub, use the speed of nine league boots to fly back to the tree where he belonged.

"So." Clark opened his mouth, and after a while, mumbled, "What, do you think?"

What, do I think. Bruce stared at Clark, with an expression of, What the hell are you talking about at a time like this. In regards to being a pervert, you...... "Makes an impression."

"......That doesn't sound much like praise," Kent considered.

It didn't sound much like praise, but how can I help that. Did you want me to tell you Ohhh, what a _great_ job? If one allowed him, he had a thousand words he would love to say while choking Kal-El around the neck, but he needed to remind himself that the person standing in front of him now was Clark Kent.

Clark Kent wasn't close with Bruce, even if Kal-El and Batman were close.

He wasn't clear at all as to why, after trying several times to put Clark Kent and Kal-El's faces together for comparison, he had still missed it -- once you knew they were the same person, the Clark Kent now was practically exactly the ridiculous image of Kal-El with a pair of glasses hanging crookedly off his nose.

And what Batman hated the most was little tricks that made a fool of him.

Just as Bruce was determining whether he was sulking or not, and adjusting his frozen expression, Clark, who had until then been skating his gaze all over the place with the sole exception of looking at him, began to laugh.

"This is way awkward." He spoke with his eyes fixed on the opposite direction to Batman, and he looked slightly embarrassed, his ears flushed red. "This is too awkward. I didn't think...... you and me, that our first meeting would be like this. I always imagined...... maybe I would be breaking some big news, and then I'd run into some trouble, and you would swoop in on the wings of justice, or I would finally find an opportunity to interview you. But, I never thought......" He gestured quickly.

Although you aren't breaking any big news, I'm very certain that if our current situation were to be shared, it would turn into a super big news item. Superman meeting Batman in his home, nude, beside him a cabinet filled with Batman merchandise. Dick would faint. But what did this have to do with Bruce? He finally felt it was time to get out. "Your loss will be reimbursed by the Justice League." He made his way toward the window he'd entered from. "You'll receive a check within five business days. The Justice League thanks you for your cooperation." In situations like this, it was usually Superman voicing the cleanup lines, damn it. He put one foot on Kent's window sill.

Wind funneled in through the open window, and Kent, still standing in place, watched him, his eyes bright.

He suddenly licked his lips.

"I have something to tell you."

"Have a nice life."

Before Kent could say something more that would throw Bruce into disarray, Batman shot his cable and made a clean, efficient exit into the night.

***

To tell the truth, it wasn't that Batman didn't want to listen to Kent's explanation about this whole situation, or that Bruce didn't want to give Kent an opportunity to be forgiven. He just felt that he needed a little time to calm himself, before Kal revealed some earth-shaking, huge secret to him, such as "I'm Superman", "I've liked you for a long time", "If you don't believe me, look, I'll float off the ground and show you", and other stupid things like that. Before that, he needed a little time to himself. He couldn't just take hits passively. He needed to think......

Think about whether he had really said to Superman's face how terrific, how cool Superman is, how Superman is the best, and then proceeded to climb into Superman's lap and seduce him, and finally dissed Clark Kent to Superman's face and told him this person was very suspicious and needed to be surveilled.

Fuck.

Life had finally struck innocent Bruce Wayne.

And then Life had felt that one strike wasn't enough to settle its enmity, wasn't enough to leave a lasting impression, and therefore that morning, right after Bruce had squatted on his favorite gargoyle thinking for an entire night about his life, considered in detail just what this goddamned situation was all about and in the end having no answer, he returned home and was met by someone hugging an enormous Superman pillow plushy, eyes staring at him dully -- Dick Grayson.

"Bruce." The boy whose eyes had lost all hope spoke with a hollowed out voice, "When I woke up today, I received the happy news that my OTP had sunk-- Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

***

To all the Gotham media personnel who are right now worrying over what to put on the cover of your newest magazine issue or newspaper cover, you've hit the jackpot, because the news belongs to you. Although the news of Batman visiting Metropolis in the night was first broken by industry fellows in Metropolis, in this age of the Internet, everything has moved toward Communism. News media people of the world, unite! Everyone tell everyone: Batman crawled out of a window in Metropolis.

Bruce stared at the front page of _The Gotham Social Daily_. If it had been merely a photo of Batman crawling out of a window, there would have been plenty of bargaining room, for instance, he was there for work, for instance, he had only found a suitable entry point to infiltrate. Unfortunately, on the bottom left of the front page was printed another photograph, the same window, a nude -- though draped with a sheet, clearly wearing nothing else -- man staring into the night, sending someone off as he pulsed with deep affection. However you looked at it, this looked like an illicit late night tryst. Bruce didn't need to see the giant headline, "Metropolis Gotham's new love?" to know what kind of content the paparazzi had spun out.

"......It's not like you think," Batman said.

"It had better not be what we think!" Having swarmed the walls and escaped prison the moment she received the news, Harley Quinn flourished her baseball bat and pointed it at Batman, yelling, "When Ivy heard the news, she _cried_. She said it would have been better if you'd gone fucking ass with that Gotham richboy! Shame on you! 'The mysterious attractiveness that Metropolis has for Gotham'! Bats, you and that richie boy, the both of you have made Gotham a laughingstock!"

"Actually, I quite enjoyed today's trending searches on Twitter." Catwoman, crouched on the hood of the Batmobile, said, "'Batman taking revenge on Superman's fickleness', 'Batman, too, has a mid-life crisis', 'Apex battle between two dogs', 'Batman making nice with Superman was only to get close to his media spokesperson'. By the way, this last bit of news was really exemplary, it almost made me forget to feed my cats."

"......So, what they're saying on the Internet is real?" Having at last been thrust through the floorboards with a final kick, Deathstroke suddenly opened his mouth to say, "Your current lover Superman and your past lover Wayne got together and dumped you at the same time, and right after that, you went to try and pick up Superman's little ex-pet, and then before you were able to seal the deal, the little bastard gave it all up to the press. You are currently the world's most famous tragically single man."

"Don't listen to that blind moron, Deathstroke," Deadshot comforted him, while taking a lethal shot at him, "Hasn't he realized, when you're in a room with that Ken Glint or whatever, naked, it's not like you were just having a chat with the covers on, eh? Good job, my man! Superman only got a kiss, but you've already fucked his little pet good. You've got balls, Batman, setting fires right in the League Chair's backyard!"

......So for whatever reason, after only three days' time, the entire situation had fermented into a soap opera about how Clark Kent had been Superman's secret lover, but Superman jilted him and, for the sake of the Justice League, sold himself out to Bruce Wayne, and at that moment, when Clark Kent was in a state of abject depression, Batman had gone to him-- Following that would surely be the episode of how he would take revenge on Superman for his callous betrayal. "I can never be sure again that those Mary Sue stories on the Internet are fake," numerous people commented. "Real life is more dramatic and scandalous than fiction. Who could think up a plot like this. Everyone falling for Brucie is one thing, but what does some nobody reporter have?!"

Yes, why don't you think about just how a lowly reporter could have received this role in the script!

But in any case, in this wave of Gotham's tumult, he had to simultaneously manage all the criminals who charged to the front lines of crime in order to interview Batman on the situation, as well as use Bruce Wayne's identity to bear all the vicious attacks from all the major mass media outlets. He was run ragged, as usual. He barely had the nerve and certainly not the time to ask Superman, or Clark Kent, what kind of hell they had been experiencing the past few days.

However, just because he didn't have time to think about others didn't mean that the bulk of society didn't care. Just because he was so busy he could hardly think didn't mean that the bulk of society didn't want to consider every angle in detail.

So, when Bruce Wayne went on Gotham's popular entertainment show, "Gotham Tonight" -- an appointment that had been scheduled two months ago and couldn't possibly be cancelled now -- he hadn't been seated for two minutes before he saw Clark Kent ushered into the live studio room with a well-placed kick.

***

"I noticed, sir, that when you were talking to Mr. Kent just now you two seemed to be getting along quite well." The host, a man who had a face like a lizard and looked like he'd prefer to skin and eat alive anyone who walked into his trap, grinned as he said, "You and he are quite familiar with each other, eh, Mr. Wayne?"

"I wouldn't say that." Leaning back on the couch, one leg cocked, looking relaxed and perfectly casual, President Wayne answered in a drawl. "However, I was once kidnapped alongside him, you know. When a relationship is formed through a shared trauma like that, we can't help but have plenty to talk about when we meet up again."

Actually, when managing hosts like this, you couldn't completely stonewall him and leave him no chinks to peek through, that would only infuriate them and, in order to keep their ratings and their job, they'd start speculating along lines where you least wanted them to go. Therefore, the most appropriate method was to throw out a small piece of bait, not too big, sell out something that looks extravagant but is in fact something very cheap, so that in the end both parties had achieved a state of complete martial triumph, pleased the crowd, and still have room to develop further.

However, Clark obviously didn't know this, or it might be more accurate to say, he knew, but he didn't plan to cooperate. When the host turned his face to him, he still had on that expression of extreme displeasure as he sat there. "I don't have anything to say," he said stubbornly. "I didn't agree to this interview. I came to sit in on the live debate on "Gotham Live", about the renovation of transport in the old Gotham districts......"

"And, due to sudden unforeseen circumstances, this show was delayed by two hours." The host answered, "All right, Clark, everyone's watching." He was pointing out that this was a live show. "We just want to ask you a few questions, satiate the curiosity of the masses-- You know people are always interested in topics like this. We don't mean any harm."

"Then I have the right to remain silent." Having been forcibly removed into the live studio -- a few two-meter burly fellows were blocking the door, and unless Clark wanted to show his super-strength in front of a video camera, he had nowhere to go -- the reporter said stubbornly, "I don't have anything to talk about."

This made the host, Bryan, squint slightly. Bruce had a bad premonition, but, in front of four or five video cameras, he had no way to give a warning. "All right." Bryan shrugged his shoulders in a way that conveyed ultimate empathy and reasonableness. "But if you become willing in a few moments, you're welcome to join us. Mr. Wayne," he turned again, "would you like to talk a bit about how you and Superman began?"

There is nothing in the world more awkward than to be talking to a person about a third person whom you're intimately familiar with but whom you must lie to protect, and for this person to be in fact sitting right beside you with a face stiff with anger, as if he'd been violated or something. Although Bruce couldn't blame Clark for that expression-- He'd probably already realized that this whole thing had been a scheme set by the Gotham TV Broadcasting Network. They had used a different show to invite him, and then turned around and trapped him in a cage where this lizard lived. However, just watch, Bruce thought, the situation wasn't all bad, if you would just be well-behaved and walk along with me.

"Actually, my crush on Superman started several years ago." He smiled at Bryan, knowing that this would let the cameras pick up a handsome profile full of friendliness. "I'll always remember that day. It was a live coverage of an event where Superman was providing support to an area damaged by a tsunami. How he looked then...... when he came down from the sky, with the wind blowing, that red cape flapping, curling around his ankles...... and then his red boots landed so lightly on a rock, it was so beautiful, like he had stepped right on the tip of your heart itself. When he looked over the crowds, he looked so gentle, as if no matter what, he would always persevere and hold out his hand to you." Bruce took a deep breath and, smiling, shook his head slightly. "From that moment on, I felt, I had to have him, no matter how big the cost."

This narrative made Clark glance at him in suspicion, probably because he was also remembering that event-- At the time, the Justice League hadn't been founded yet, so it was only the founding members of the League -- being himself, Batman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and the Flash -- who had rushed to the disaster area. As the only human in that group without superpowers, when Batman had scarce places among the debris to step and was struggling to advance, he had in fact once held out his hand toward Batman-- He was always trying to hold out his hand to Batman. Unfortunately, at the time, Batman had hadn't appreciated this and had conversely suggested that instead, he should fly to the ocean and observe when the next giant wave might come.

In the face of Clark's surprise, Bruce, unaffected, continued to look at Bryan.

"Ah, I remember that rescue effort, too. That must have been......" Calmly, Bryan took a look at the teleprompter off camera, "two and a half years ago. Which means that, you started planning to court Superman back then-- Well, then, offering to fund the Justice League wasn't your first step, was it?"

"Actually...... I did use a lot of other ways to attract Superman's attention, for instance, I became a member of his fan club, and generally, any event he attended, I'd make sure the Wayne Foundation would go, too-- I didn't mind spending a spot of money on charity, because this was nothing more than following along in Superman's path to pick up the leftovers." This was as if you were following behind a giant protecting the world, carrying a little bucket, trying to take the tiny fish and shrimp that he hadn't had the time to save and bring them back to the ocean. It was that simple.

"So, this is the reason the Wayne Foundation has been so active in the last few years and why you've become a famous benefactor."

"That's right. Guess what? He's made me a better person. He made me move my sights from only Gotham to the whole world. After all, before he came along, I always thought that the one beauty in Gotham was more than enough to drive a person crazy. Because of him, though, every day when I get up, when I have to face those parties and those horrible board meetings, I feel like I have a small, shiny, new bit of motivation."

"You're deeply into him."

"I really am deeply into him," Bruce replied with a smile. "So you have to understand, when the opportunity came up for Wayne Enterprises to be a financial contributor to the Justice League, just how happy I was. I finally had the chance to show him directly how I support him. Some things are hard to say, but _money_ ," he rubbed his fingers together, "will always be the most effective way to demonstrate love."

"That's a truly Gotham style of courting." Bryan nodded in a satisfied way, but suddenly turned to Clark, who seemed to be in a daze. "So then, Mr. Kent, do you think this kind of courtship will be effective?"

"Er, uh, ah----" Having been called on so suddenly, Clark stumbled helplessly through several more 'uh's. His face, whether from nervousness or some other reason, was suspiciously red. "I think he's giving too much credit to Superman. What I mean is, um, lots of people like Superman, but people willing to do so much good in imitation of him are few...... I can't think of any reason for Superman not to like him."

"As someone who was once the closest person to Superman?"

"Yes, as someone who was once...... Sorry, what?"

"Oh, it's like this. We've heard that you were once, in some ways, very intimate with Superman. I think the studio audience, and myself included, would like to know if there's any truth to these rumors. Did you ever have a relationship deeper than friendship with Superman, Mr. Kent?"

"Uh, ah......" Clark said. He couldn't enact his right to silence now. And Bruce just hoped he knew that he was speaking to several million people -- and after it hit social media, it would become several hundred million. "I think this is a very private question."

"So, you have."

"Uh, no," he said. "I'd rather prefer to say, I don't want to answer."

"If you hadn't, then you could say so directly."

"We're only very good friends."

"What you're saying is, you've never had any carnal relations with him."

"No, that would run against all news industry ethics......"

"Because he's not your type?"

"I don't think everyone must inevitably wind up in bed after just talking for a long time, Mr. Bryan."

"But, I've read some of your reporting-- You and Pulitzer-winner, Ms. Lois Lane, were his media liaisons. We've heard Ms. Lane was once intimate with Superman, so as her successor, you must forgive us for being a little...... quite reasonably speculative."

"Uh, I don't think Lois really had any relationship with Superman. They're only friends......"

"Only, from your perspective?"

"From my...... Hey," Clark said. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Bryan said merrily. "However, even if they did have a past together, I think it'd be normal for you to know nothing about it, sir-- This is all just to help us understand the current situation. So then, why do you think he singled you out from among all the available reporters, Mr. Kent? Because you have something particularly unique? Because you have some surpassingly strong skills in...... certain areas?"

"I......" Clark said. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just helped Lois out a few times when she was reporting on Superman. After that, I think since Lois transferred, this just naturally fell into my normal duties......"

"You helped her a few times, so, the rumors that you once tried to date her are true? You used to like her, and you and Superman were rivals in love."

Clark's face blushed red.

"I once tried to court Ms. Lane, if anyone wants to know." Bruce's tone was lively and brisk. "You should all meet her. Ms. Lane is an entrancing, charismatic lady. I don't think there's anyone who wouldn't fall to their knees in front of her feet."

This was equivalent to stealing the spotlight-- Compared to Bruce, who made the front page of the society news around once a month, Clark Kent was obviously the fatter lamb for the altar, with far more potential for digging out juicy bits. But since he'd volunteered this topic, Bryan predictably shifted his attention back to Bruce. "When was that, Brucie?"

"Hm...... probably three and a half years ago. The first time I met her, I fell head over heels. I tried to pursue her, but it was obvious that I wasn't enough to move her, so she rejected me." Biting his lower lip, Bruce shrugged. "I was very sad. I almost hid in my blankets and cried."

"That was three years ago. At that time, did you see Superman as a rival?"

"Oh, no," Bruce said. "Why would I make myself a rival to Superman? He's so handsome, so beautiful. Only children make choices. Adults, of course, just opt for having everything-- If possible, I'd much rather ask him if he's willing to serve a spot in my threesome."

"But sir, you said you fell for Superman just two and a half years ago."

"Falling for someone is one thing, threesomes are another." Bruce grinned. "I believe that the vast majority of everyone in the audience has had some thoughts about Superman, whether big or small, and I'm not an exception."

"But you, sir, are the only one who actually earned Superman's attention. May I ask, do you have any tips for everyone to consider?"

"Hm. First of all," Bruce slid a playful glance at the camera, "you have to have money."

Everyone laughed, except Clark.

"And then, you have to be stubborn enough, direct enough, some things you just have to spill in front of him, lay it right out in black and white, tell him you love him. You can't hang back in defense, not advancing. Pursuing someone is a complicated matter, especially in regards to an exceptional person like Superman."

"And then, you succeeded."

"Not even I can say whether I succeeded. All I did was take an opportunity when Superman was distracted and steal a kiss."

"Kissed twice, though?"

"The first time was on the cheek, so of course you can't count that. But the second time I did hit my mark."

"What was his reaction then?"

"He...... was very surprised. I'd startled him badly. But no matter what, he was a gentleman, so he didn't shove me away."

"Do you think you'll have another opportunity?"

"Hm---- That's completely up to Superman." Bruce pouted. "But I look forward to a next time."

"What does Clark think? Does Bruce have a chance?" He'd taken up enough of Bryan's attention. After ascertaining that he wouldn't be able to knock out any more news than usual, the lizard turned again toward the reporter, his fellow media worker who nevertheless seemed obviously ignorant of the entertainment section. "I noticed that your expression is awfully serious."

"Uh," Clark said. "I just think, he's pumping up Superman's image too much."

"Because of your status as Superman's rival?"

"I'm not, I've never...... I......" Clark looked rather flustered, and Bruce wasn't sure of the reason for his irritation. "I'm just coming from the same perspective, and I don't think Superman is so above everyone else. Mr. Wayne has plenty of charisma......"

"You like Mr. Wayne."

Even the tips of Clark's ears were red now. Bruce wanted to lift his head to the ceiling and sigh. "I, I just admire him."

"Even while you're dating Batman."

"I'm not dating Batman."

"No, no, no, don't deny it so quickly, Mr. Kent-- We've all seen the photo of Batman coming out of your bedroom. You're saying that there could be any other reason for that?"

"I......" This was a question that Clark couldn't answer, whether or not he was a member of the Justice League. If he said that Batman had another reason for visiting him, then this would necessarily attract some unwanted attention. In any case, it was already strange that Batman would notice Clark Kent. For instance, when had they first come into contact? Whom had Kent come into contact with prior to this? What kind of mysteries surrounded Kent so that even Batman's eyes would be attracted to him? So, the only remaining solution at the moment seemed to be to confess directly. However, Kal-El wasn't the type to involve innocents into something this big-- He didn't yet know what Batman's answer was going to be. "I don't want to answer this question," was the only thing he could say.

" _You don't want to answer this question_." Bryan said this with an intonation of deep meaning. "You don't dare to, or you don't want to?"

"......Excuse me?"

"We all know, Gotham's Black Terror enjoys using some...... not quite civilized methods for engaging with people. Are you under some kind of threat from Batman? Or, you're afraid that if you were to confirm that here, your life would be in danger."

Clark's entire body straightened up, just as Bruce was swiftly considering how to deflect the conversation to something else. "Allow me to say that I cannot accept this accusation. He's not that type of person."

"What type of person is he not? He's not someone who jumps on thugs and beats their faces to a pulp? I believe 80% of the criminals in Gotham would have objections to that."

"I believe that the fact that so many of Gotham's media personnel can make so many accusations against him and still go home every day with no repercussions, and even continue to work due to being under his protection, is itself enough proof for my statement."

"You're protecting him," Bryan said. "So, you like him?"

"I......" Bruce hoped with all his heart that Clark could take on his Superman persona quickly, by which he meant, that professional spokesman persona. But this would be difficult, because the way the political section threw its weight around was different from how the entertainment section did it. Even for Nixon during the Watergate scandal, nobody had directly shoved a microphone in his mouth and asked him, Do you and your wife actually love each other or not?

These two sections had entirely different language systems.

"I do like him." Just like a cow offering itself for slaughter, Clark continued answered in his stubborn and yet self-sure way, "Do you have a problem with that?"

Just saying that Clark liked Batman wasn't enough to count as any kind of explosive news. But if they continued down this path, the current conversation about Batman would migrate into being about Clark. "I think, Bryan." So, Bruce smiled, and he patted Clark's shoulder, as if to tell him to lighten up as much as possible. "Your attitude toward our friend here is a bit too severe -- it's his first time on this kind of show, he'd be nervous for sure -- so I rather think that Clark has the most worries among us. He's an innocent pulled into this. All that happened was that he was seen with Batman crawling out of his window, and now he's being forced to sit here-- It's not as if he made Batman do that, so, rather than interrogating him, maybe we had much better call Batman in here and ask him what he thinks."

Bryan looked taken aback, but very quickly, he showed the attitude of a lizard that had spotted prey. "You're feeling sympathy for Clark, Brucie? Because you were both once a superhero's tabloid boyfriend?"

"To tell the truth, because I was once Batman's tabloid boyfriend." Bruce's eyes were bright. "Superman would never give me pressure me like this. Considering how scandals involving myself and Batman used to be gossiped about, that does make me feel like I'd better give our friend," he shot a smarmy look at Clark, "an objective word of support, for the sake of justice."

Clark remained sitting there. Who knew what he was thinking. All you could see was his expression of gloomy unhappiness.

"Ex tabloid boyfriend." But Bryan couldn't spare a care for him. He could tell that today he'd hooked a big fish. "Speaking of this, most of us still remember five years ago, what happened between you, sir, and Batman-- Although it was quite a while ago, but after that, you once expressed that you had no feelings whatsoever about Batman."

"Well---- I did say that. After all, Batman just isn't my type. He's a little, uh, dark, and if I tell the truth, he might be a little...... psychologically damaged? Someone who never speaks directly is kind of a bother. I know some people will think, what's that netspeak that you all say, he's very arro-cate, very...... tsundere? But in the real world, wouldn't you say that this kind of person is the most bothersome of all? You never know whether he really cares about you, or if he just has something more important to do. Someone who's not delicate but only arrogant is the hardest to handle. Although, I know some people will find this charming-- My son is a big fan." Sorry, Dick. "But speaking of boyfriends, I believe that most people still prefer a honey who's considerate, someone direct, a fellow who's gentle and upright. Our city has been covered with shadowy clouds for years, my compatriots -- look at the weather reports! Instead of letting this kind of lifestyle continue to throw shadows over everything, why don't we enjoy a tiny bit of this bright sunlight?"

He knew these words didn't have any real meaning. At best, it would cause Bryan to take off with excitement. "Bruce Wayne publicly expressed that, rather than Batman, Gotham needs Superman more", this headline would be more than thrilling enough to satisfy him. They could even hang up a banner with those words, hang it up right outside the studio.

But, it wasn't as if Brucie would care.

Whatever he threw out, it was far, far more than what he actually gave up here, so the fact that there was only this little bit of discomfort in their conversation made it easy for him to continue smiling carelessly at everyone.

But, he'd forgotten that there was someone here who did care.

"I'm very confused." The person sitting next to him suddenly spoke in a low tone. "I've been extremely confused since I stepped into this studio. I've noticed that there's a feeling here of...... unfriendliness toward Batman. From when you, Mr. Bryan, first asked that leading question -- by the way, I should mention that broke the rules of news etiquette -- your choice of words, and all sorts of details. You, sir, and this show itself, and many people in the industry in Gotham, all seem to dislike Batman. But what I don't understand is, if you don't like him, why do you drag him out and talk about him as if you actually care about him?"

Frowning, Clark, staring straight at Bryan, looked very serious. He didn't look only serious, he looked...... somewhat, sad?

"......No one here would dare to be unfriendly towards Batman." Bryan was also stunned, but, he recovered his attitude quickly. "He's the shadow that hangs outside our windows. At any time, he could barge in and hang us up outside the Gotham Police Station......"

"But, has he ever really harmed an innocent?" Clark said. "Has he really ever let even one innocent person suffer harm, for his own selfish desires or goals? Has he ever done anything truly unforgiveable that should make you all...... talk about him with such contempt? A person who is trying to protect Gotham, someone who has nearly lost his life for this purpose so many times?

"I don't like how you're discussing him, and discussing his ill intentions," the Metropolite continued. "I've interviewed many citizens in the lowest quarters of Gotham, and the vast majority of them love him. Why don't you listen to what the people are saying? Why don't you listen to what the lowest class think that they need?"

"Clark." Bruce felt he had to interrupt him-- No matter what people would think of them, officials could never publicly acknowledge someone like Batman who walked in the grey areas, who often used violence and threats to achieve his goals. In any case, this was only a talk show. "This is a very serious topic. I hope you realize......"

"Shut up." Clark glared at him, though it was brief. He returned his full attention to Bryan. "Especially you, Mr. Wayne, I don't like how you talk about Batman. It's true, I like Batman, I've just acknowledged it, so what you just said was purposely disrespecting the person I like to my face. I don't care what reasons you have for doing it," he said before Bruce could open his mouth again, "I don't care, either, what kind of strategy this arose from. I don't even care whether you actually like or dislike Batman, but I hope that you realize that your disrespecting Batman to my face like this is the same as disrespecting me. No matter who you are, these are the facts. I can't sit back and not respond to those words, as if I'm affirming them."

"Um...... I think we can understand your position as...... what you think your position is as Batman's tabloid partner, or, his one night stand, and what you feel your responsibilities are. But I have to remind you, sir, that many of his actions are criminal, and he could even be lawfully charged. Commissioner Gordon -- the commissioner of Gotham's police force -- once said publicly that the ten-year goal for Gotham is to create a city that doesn't need Batman anymore. You understand, not every one of us...... reacts emotionally like this."

Bruce thought that he should yank Clark down, before he stuck out his chest, vibrating with vigor, eyes shining with generous spirit, like a person about to recite some incontrovertible creed, to fearlessly stare someone down. He should press Clark down, because he had a premonition that this man would yet say even more terrifying things that could not be settled quietly.

But, he did not. Because there was that fleeting moment where he, like everyone else, was stunned. And in that period while he was stunned, some part of him -- some part that took familiar satisfaction in distancing himself from situations, who used self-deprecation as a way to derive joy from pain -- that was, contrarily, carelessly thinking about the fact that _this_ was why he thought that Superman was the most fitting of anyone out there to be the Chair of the League.

He had a stubborn urge toward justice, no matter if the justice at hand was rather immature and sometimes made Batman want to choke him around the neck and yell, Wake up!, while other times, this sense of justice seemed easy to manipulate, to besmirch. However, once he looked you straight in the eye and said a thing, you knew that he honestly believed it.

"I think," he looked at the camera lens in just that way, looked right at every person behind that lens, and spoke word by word. "What Commissioner Gordon meant by this was that he hoped Gotham would become a city where crime rates would drop even lower, where Batman can enjoy a life outside of fighting crime, that would allow him in a few decades' time to grow wrinkled and grey into a peaceful old age, so that even without him needing to patrol the streets, he could still hear children crying out in laughter as they run across the streets. You can't condemn this messenger to execution, when Batman is only exposing wounds that have long been rotting and growing rancid to shine sunlight on them. What this city really needs to be denounced for is the crime that sweeps over it with impunity, the system that allows this crime to breed, and those shameless politicians who allow normal young people who should have had a better, more vibrant, beautiful life, to instead become criminals. And the media just keeps silent, burying itself in boring trivia for entertainment, forgetting the responsibilities that they carry. If Gotham is mired in mud, then every single person here, including me, is probably an abettor. And Batman? What is he? He's nothing but your scapegoat. When you're throwing stones at him, he is the most clearly sinless person among us.

"He's the finest person of anyone I know," Clark Kent said with steely certainty. There was fire burning in his eyes and in his voice. "If it's Gotham's wish to one day no longer need Batman, then I believe Metropolis's wish is to one day become free of Superman. When I say this, I mean that my deep wish is that everyone will join and work together to do something for this world."

"You look very agitated, Mr. Kent." Bryan was silent for a while. His eyes were shining with anticipation. "But I'm sure, what you mean to say is that you believe Batman is stronger than anyone. You believe that Batman is even stronger than Superman. I would like to know, does Superman know that his media liaison......"

"This has nothing to do with Superman." Clark answered calmly. Now, he didn't even look angry anymore, although that bright thing continued to burn in his eyes. "When I say these things, I'm not speaking as Superman's media liaison or anything like that. They're only the expressions of a regular person, an American citizen, a creature who inhabits this Earth." He stood and looked once around. As he did so, that fire along with the pride in his face caused a kind of elitist, disquieting contempt to float to the surface of this man, who should have been an upright goody-goody. "I don't have anything else worth saying," he said lightly. "If you must take someone here as the butt of everyone's fun, whether Batman or Superman, myself or Mr. Wayne, then you, sir, may take any entertainment you want from me. I don't care. Only, I respectfully ask you and your cameras to leave Batman and his private matters alone-- Hasn't he given enough? He's nearly sacrificed his life to this city, and yet some of the people here can only make fun of him."

When his look of contempt swept over Bruce, Bruce could swear that something in the man's eyes jumped slightly, but before Bruce could figure out what that had been, Clark Kent had lowered his head once again. His expression was peaceful, and he declared calmly, with a tone that was simultaneously completely unlike Clark Kent and yet absolutely Clark Kent, "I have an interview on another show. Forgive my early departure."

With that same assured pace, he walked out. Even the heavyweights who had been supposed to prevent him from dashing out didn't move to block him.

Superman really was good at making everything political or more serious. In the entire studio, only Bruce was taking some joy from his own discomfort, he thought. This was exactly why he and Superman always came to blows. The bastard, the only thing he was particularly skilled at was making trouble for Batman.

"I'm sure......" When Bryan turned his head back, he discovered that the richest person in Gotham, the Prince of the East Coast, was looking thoughtful about something. "Mr. Kent was just a little bit overexcited there. For someone who doesn't understand the situation here in Gotham at all, he had a lot of...... overexcited opinions. That's slightly disrespectful, but we might as well forgive him, don't you think, Mr. Wayne?"

The question made Brucie, who had been cogitating quietly, hesitate for a moment. He lifted his head, all smiles, as if he'd realized something interesting. First, he laughed at Bryan, and then he slowly took a glance at the camera to his side.

"Perhaps," he said. "I don't know. But I must say -- he's a bit of an asshole, just like me. So, I'm rather on the verge of falling for him."


	13. Chapter 13

As was always to be expected, the first person in all this to fall apart was our fellow OTP fan, the citizens' good comrade-in-arms, the person who conquered the world over with only his ass -- Dick Grayson.

"Superman is Clark Kent! You're saying, Superman is Clark Kent!" After being told this secret, the boy couldn't stop clawing his fingers over his face. "Your midnight tryst was with Clark Kent!"

"Calm down. You're about to burst my eardrums."

"I can't calm down," Dick shouted, "Why can't you understand, Bruce, Bruce-- Superman is Clark Kent, and I rescued Clark Kent that day without knowing anything, that was the first time I met my all-time idol--

"But goddamn it all to hell, I didn't wash my hair that day!!!!!!!"

***

Ah, Robin, ever the victim of his daddy's cons. Let us go ahead and toss him aside for a while, and talk about some more practical things. Within two hours after Clark Kent publicly swept out, his speech had rocketed to the top of Twitter searches -- ably proving the appreciation that the masses had for this kind of news that mixed both serious discussion and gossip. "Clark Kent is right", "Give me a break, what a 'pure, honest' white lotus", "My man, I've noticed you", "Does anyone else think this reporter is a total bitch?", "Justice League, please respond to what Mr. Kent said on this show", "I agree that Kent is right, if I make a banner out of this sentence and hang it outside my window, will Batman come screw me tonight?"

There were rather more than a few people who hated him, and there were also rather many who liked him. Some said that Kent's behavior was manipulative, and some believed that Kent had been revealing his true feelings.

But anyway, fuggetabout all the boring discussion topics that are about to roll out of this, such as, the jurisdiction of superheroes, the gray area superheroes inhabit, whether Batman likes Kent because he's a secret pervert or because Kent has broad shoulders and narrow hips. The other main character in this case, Batman, hasn't made his opinion known. He's still busy as usual, fighting crime -- and plugging up his ears and paying no attention to the entertainment reporters yelling out as they chase after his ass.

"Maybe, that inky old black bat just doesn't read the news and genuinely has no idea what you said, my dear." Bruce said, "Don't be sad over this-- We don't even know yet whether he's actually an urban legend derived from vampire novels."

"I'm not sad over this." Regarding this, Clark Kent said calmly, "More importantly, Mr. Wayne -- could you please first get out of my lap?"

***

Bruce felt himself quite injured, but he was a reasonable person. He wasn't like those skanky sex demons who stayed down until you were standing up, so even though Clark Kent's attitude was rather hurtful -- and his thighs were bouncy and firm and already making him feel nostalgic for them -- Gotham's Prince benevolently moved from Kent's lap to his workdesk.

"That doesn't help matters." Clark politely pointed out, "Sir, your butt is right on my keyboard."

"But you're not willing to bring a chair for me," Bruce blinked at Kent in an aggrieved manner, "I can only work with what I'm given."

"Generally speaking, when a person isn't willing to provide a chair for someone, the socially accepted message is very clear."

"Oh, I know, and that's why I sat on your lap-- Did you want me to sit back there?"

This made Clark take a deep breath: "You need to see reason, Mr. Wayne. Otherwise, please allow me to remind you, sir, that you're 1.88 meters tall. No matter how much you curl yourself up, you can't turn into a cute little kittycat curled up on my keyboard!"

"I don't have to be a kitty." Bruce said magnanimously, "I could be a cute panther, or a cute cheetah, I don't object to anything as long as it's cute."

"A panther who tries to squeeze itself into a cardboard box to be cute, resulting in the box being squashed flat." Clark roared, "You're twenty-seven years old! Act like an adult, Mr. Wayne! And Jimmy, put down your camera! I want everyone here to go back to your damn jobs!"

***

"Have you noticed," Lois, ever astute, carried her coffee over, "ever since he was on that Gotham Tonight show, Clark has really had a temper."

"That can't be helped," Jimmy replied, fork in his mouth, "Too many people are harassing him -- they won't even let _me_ alone. Someone told me, if I'm willing to get them a candid, they'll pay me five thousand dollars."

"We have entered an Era of Evil," Sharp slapped his palms on his desk, making all the cookies jump out of the plate, "When a lady flirts with you, you can't be polite to her like you used to, you have to ask first-- Hey, are you talking to me just because you're here for that boy from Kansas? We need to do something! Us! We employees of _The Daily Planet_ have always been harassed because of Superman and now we have to be tortured because of that Kansas farmer!"

"I agree that you all should do something." Clark Kent's ghost whispered softly from his workspace behind the cubicle divider. "For instance-- Hurry up and get this richboy on my lap out of here."

"Hm---- Well, you see, ah---- Today's weather is pretty good, wouldn't you say, Sharp?"

"I believe in your ability to hold out, Clark." Lois, as the calmest and the most professional person among them, and also a heartless human being, looked at her watch. "There are still five minutes before afternoon tea is over. In five minutes, I'll help you haul him away from you, I promise."

"Are you sure, Ms. Lane." Bruce leaned against Clark's charming chest muscles as he answered. "The cakes for afternoon tea have all arrived, true, but the delivery from your favorite, that blueberry pie place, won't get here for half an hour, you know."

"Half an hour." Lois confirmed, "At most, half an hour, and then I'll help you drive him away from your lap-- You can do it, Clark!!!! Our spirits will be with you!"

***

"I've discovered for the first time," Clark said, his face expressionless, having finally accepted his fate and started typing with his notebook laid on Bruce's knees. "People really can be tempted with thirty silver coins -- and what you paid out wasn't even as much as that."

"This is defamation." The sadly defamed Bruce continued cheerfully playing with his phone, at the same time continually wiggling his ass to find a more comfortable and pleasant position. He ignored how the muscles in his one-of-a-kind-on-Earth, extremely expensive seat padding -- the fact of it being not quite compliant with ergonomics being its only detrimental point -- were gradually tensing up. "I spent rather a lot of money to buy everyone tea-- though I do also think that the desserts from that Michelin place are pretty good."

"But you shouldn't eat any more desserts, sir." Clark pretended solicitous warmth in his kind reminder. "After all, sir, you're already heavy enough to have made my legs go numb."

***

He was heavy enough to have made Superman feel like his legs had gone numb.

"You're barbaric," Bruce said.

You're barbaric, Bruce repeated.

An eminently civilized, gentle, kind gentleman fired up with justice.

Could never casually say such a thing to someone sitting on his lap.

"You've utterly destroyed my fantasies about you, Mr. Kent."

"I'm so glad that there might come a day when your fantasies are destroyed, Mr. Wayne-- Well, then, will you please give my thighs a rest now, sir?"

"My psyche has suffered injury, and all you can think about is your thighs."

"These are suffering thighs that have been pressed numb by your two hundred pounds, sir-- You know, sir, two hundred pounds is over 0.1 of a ton. This is about equivalent to an elephant curled up in my arms, pretending to be a kittycat."

Now, Bruce felt that he must put up a fight for his reputation: "This is all muscle. If you don't believe me, you can go ahead and feel."

"I don't see how two hundred pounds of cotton or two hundred pounds of steel would make any difference to my thighs. Mass isn't affected by composition. Sir, didn't you study your junior high physics?"

"Heavens, you have a devil's tongue, don't you-- How come I didn't notice this when you visited my Manor earlier."

"Maybe because at the time, you were busy paying attention to other parts of me. Of course, I didn't know yet that you and Superman were deeply in love." This gave Clark pause for two seconds, and then a vaguely unhappy expression, reminiscent of a child throwing a tantrum, rose up on his face. He glared and said, "Honestly, Mr. Wayne-- Why don't you hurry home, sir? Go and have a damned fling with your beloved Superman."

***

"So, that's why I'm now sitting with you here." Bruce cheerfully explained, "Don't you think that fellow was considerate? Not only was he concerned about me, but he was worried about my romantic relationships! It's not every day you can find such a good-hearted guy."

"......I think he might have been only expressing that he wanted you to leave his office, Mr. Wayne." Having been forced to sit across from him, and with the same complicated expression all over his face, but, being Superman, having to valiantly control it, Kal-El said, "Honestly, though, why were you acting like that toward him, sir......"

"Why? But I like him!" Bruce shot Superman a flirty look. "Of course, there are other reasons, too." For instance, before public opinion boiled over and killed Kent, he needed to deflect everyone's attention elsewhere, though that had nothing to do with Superman. "Haven't you noticed? He has the firmest pectoral muscle of anyone in the world, and his back muscles are hard as anything. His face is forthright and handsome. Any way you look at him, he's the original mold of a beauty......"

"......I thought, sir, that you called me here to discuss the Justice League's newest budget estimates."

"Oh, of course, of course." Bruce mischievously stuck his tongue out. "I got overexcited for a moment, sorry, sorry-- By the way, how are things advancing between you and that Gotham friend of yours?"

"I......" Superman said. "So far, we haven't had any time to discuss it. Also, Mr. Wayne, since you're pursuing someone else, could you please not put your hand on my thigh? It's impolite."

"But I'm also pursuing you, honey--" Bruce followed his words by flopping down, pillowing his head on Superman's leg. He stared at Superman's face with bright, glittering eyes. "Do you think it'd help if I sent him a brand new life-sized Batman limited edition figure, along with an autograph by Batman himself? Of course, I can't get in touch with Batman, so I might have to depend on you for the autograph. But, see, Clark Kent, is your friend, too. Don't you want to make your friend happy for a bit?"

***

"I couldn't possibly give up a figure, absolutely not, never in this lifetime," a certain unnamed, anonymous, person of interest said thusly, "All I can do is sort of act polite and _very_ begrudgingly express that this _might_ be rather inappropriate. If I could have a life-sized Superman limited edition with personalized autograph 'to Dick Grayson' I could sell off my purity to him but the release date was delayed fuck Bruce don't interrupt me you dirty capitalist using Batman to cut in line I'm going to reveal your secret identity today from the moment you stuck your nose into disrupting the world of collectibles we became class warfare enemies Bruce--"

***

"You've been visiting Bruce Wayne's place pretty often lately." Batman said, expressionlessly, while on monitor duty with Superman, "Maybe I should congratulate you on a smooth progress?"

"I," Superman said. "I. I feel like when you say that, you should feel at least a twinge of shame. You......"

"What? Are you saying I shouldn't give my blessings to the two of you?" Batman answered lightly. He suddenly realized, "Oh," he said flatly, "You don't need to worry about what's between me and Bruce Wayne. We've never had any kind of entanglement between us, not like you and him."

"......I don't have any 'entanglements' with Bruce Wayne either, no, wait," his face red with anger, "You clearly know I should...... no, wait."

"I think you do need to decrease the frequency with which you visit him," Batman judged coolly. "Look, after spending too much time with him, your IQ can't even reach average."

"I'm not like this because I've been spending too much time with him." Superman said furiously, "You _know_ that I've been...... that I'm being played by this man."

"You're being played by Bruce Wayne." He tried his best to make himself serious and businesslike. "This is serious. How is he playing you? Using red spectrum lights? I can help you prepare a statement of legal charges......"

"I don't think I need you to interfere with what's between him and me." Superman finally couldn't stand it any longer. "Compared to this, maybe you should talk a little more about what happened between you and my media liaison."

"Oh, that." Batman asked, "What about it?"

"For instance, why did you visit him so late at night?"

"......Ah." The question caused Batman to raise an eyebrow, even if he knew Kal-El couldn't see it through the cowl. "That was a bit of...... private business between him and me."

"Between......" Superman said, "You two have private business?"

"Why wouldn't we-- You were the one who suggested that I take a more neutral, unbiased attitude toward him, Superman, and based on your suggestion, I'm trying to build a friendlier relationship with Clark Kent. I can't see how this would affect how Wayne is manipulating you."

By the way, Batman continued, You should go take a look at Clark Kent's collection. It's very...... meaningful. It leaves a lasting impression.

"I......" Kal-El said. "I find this hard to believe. I would rather believe that you went to his home to install more surveillance cameras."

"I did do that." Batman was perfectly honest about this. "But that's unrelated to the private matter between myself and Kent. Why don't you tell me more about you and Bruce Wayne then, Kal-El?"

"What are they doing." From behind him, not too far away, Flash mumbled to Green Lantern. "Are they fighting?"

"I'm more inclined to think of it as a kind of lover's cold war, baby." Green Lantern said dryly. "Don't get involved. When couples fight, not even dogs ought to get in the way."

"Boys." The only true mental adult there, continually perplexed as to just how far this band of men might break through even her lowest bar, Wonder Woman sighed as she spoke.

***

To be perfectly honest, regarding this whole situation, Bruce was actually rather having fun ("Honestly, Bruce-- only 'rather having fun'?") It wasn't only that after Superman had teased him for all this time, he could finally, for a while, enjoy Superman's expression as he was annoyed but unable to do anything about it. It was also because after all these years, he had finally discovered a rare enjoyment in being Brucie. Batman, naturally, never engaged in hearts nor in flowers, he was always serious, at every moment readying to leap to the front lines. But no one ever had any expectations that Brucie might be anything but empty-headed-- Even if he ordered bouquets and chocolates sent to Clark every day, no one would say a thing. Moreover, even from Batman's perspective, there were valid reasons.

He needed people to no longer see Clark Kent as a hardline fan of Batman. Even if it weren't entirely true that the vast majority of people who had relations with Batman came to a bad end, it was a true fact that they had a high probability of becoming a victim of a variety of revenge crimes. To this day, people graffitied "Batman's dogs" on the outside of the Gotham police department. And the last thing Bruce wanted was for someone to attack Clark Kent and discover that Clark Kent came through with nary a hair out of place as if he were Superman himself.

Some harmless entertainment news was more than enough to distract the people's attention, and from a long-range planning perspective, after the first high-visibility entrance, Bruce planned to make everything become regular and normal. Flowers and wine, lunch date invites, and dropping by _The Daily Planet_ one to two times each week. All that would slowly cool everyone's interest in the story. In fact, the week after Bruce started this strategy, the level of focus from the masses on Clark Kent had downslid by an order of magnitude. It didn't matter that the day after Superman had insisted in a debate with Batman that "I've never been intimate with Bruce Wayne", "You're the one who's been intimate with Clark Kent", "I'm not entangled with Clark Kent", "I don't care whether you're entangled with Bruce Wayne or not", "No that's not what I meant, Rao, will God please sew your damned mouth shut", "Just because I said God doesn't mean I'm a creationist!" he appeared despondent and made some interesting announcements to the reporters that hounded and surrounded him......

***

"Yes, I'm accepting Bruce Wayne's advances." In the video image, Clark Kent, who had formerly always charged ahead, only repeating the two words, "No comment", finally stopped and spoke. His face when he turned around was filled with frustrated irritation. "I'm simultaneously continuing to meet with Batman. My working relationship with Superman is also ongoing. He hasn't expressed any desire to change media liaisons. That's the way it is. All right? I don't know why it's come to this. Why don't you go ask him directly?

"However, seeing as all three of these men are gifted with charisma, or you might even take out the charisma and simply say that they are all gifted men, therefore, I don't see any reason to refuse a single one of them." Clark's expression betrayed no emotion. "No matter which of them is the first to tell me he loves me, I'll accept him-- Now, you can all present the gift of your attentions to the only person you can get an interview with, Mr. Wayne. Go ahead and bother him with 'When do you plan to propose' or whatever questions, okay?"

After he gave that little speech, "Clark Kent is a vexing little imp" began trending. By the way, the top of the search lists was "Brucie baby, you're only 27 years old! You can't, Mama won't allow it!!!"

But anyway, on the whole, everything fell according to Bruce's plan. On some level, he'd even gotten Clark accustomed to everything.

("When I showed you how to properly make use of a tongue to tie a knot in a cherry stem, you didn't even blush a little-- Don't you love me anymore, Clark?"

"Maybe I just remind myself regularly not to take your advances seriously, sir-- You're the one who keeps telling everyone that the one you love is Superman, isn't that right, Mr. Wayne?"

"I do like Superman, that's right," Bruce, pulling on Clark's tie, smiled and said, "However, I like you just as much, you know that, my peachy honey.")

"Just how many lovers are you romancing with these honeyed words, sir?"

"Asking after a man's past is very unclassy, Clark. The important point is, the one I like right now is you -- and Superman, of course. What can I do to make you believe that I really have fallen for you?"

"Well, I don't know." Clark looked at him, and after a few seconds, giving not an inch of ground, he began to smile in a patently artificial way. "Sir, how about you arrange an exclusive interview for me with Batman?"

For a moment, this made him experience a false apprehension that he might actually be in a relationship with Clark Kent -- or, maybe they were actually in a relationship, but it was also possible that this was merely a battle such as deemed necessary between superheroes. It was anybody's guess where to draw the line between the two possibilities. So far, Superman hadn't really discussed any of this with him.

From a certain point of view, this was their own made-up game, laying down cards that weren't quite for their own private benefit, and so, when a certain incident crashed in upon them, nobody expected it.

What was that saying?

No plan survives first contact.

***

***

The first thing to crash on them was an explosive scoop that broke on social media and rapidly went viral: "Don't believe that Reporter K and President W is some kind of Cinderella and Prince story. He interviewed him before going on the show. Really, you can check the published magazine. During President W's exclusive interview, he answered loads of questions that he would never on other interviews. And a few days later, Anonymous Person B visited his bedroom, after which came the proclamation on the show. In my opinion, this whole thing was planned. You all thought he was demanding justice on television, but actually he's just sucking Anonymous Person B's blood to pump up his own image." Because it stirred up a certain bias that existed between Metropolis and Gotham, as well as the existing debates about the righteousness of Batman's activities, as well as the long-standing conspiracies about how Batman actually had some unsavory ties to the richest people in Gotham, this news quickly brought out hot debates on every platform.

At the same time, however, Bruce didn't know about this. He was involved in the production of another show that didn't have as much entertainment value. Before this, he'd been busy building the Watchtower's computer systems -- Superman had already put in overtime and extra effort along with Green Lantern to construct this giant satellite base, and now he would finesse every step moving forward -- he couldn't let the job of looking after his Watchtower baby go to someone else's hands.

This was precisely why, aside from pursuing Clark being the rare adjustment to his lifestyle, he put nearly his entire efforts toward the Watchtower. If it weren't for the fact that this show was about Gotham, Bruce may not even have attended: But every episode, _G City Fashions_ invited a celebrity to walk the streets with the host, showcasing the unique sights and tastes infused with the character of Gotham City. The idea had come from a suggestion from Dick during lunch one time, and later, Wayne Media had invested to create the production team. Even if it couldn't compete with the explosive effects of gossip shows, it was solid, down-to-earth, yet filled with the heartwarming stories of real people, plus drool-worthy closeups of delicious foods, making it a show that never lost its appeal. "Re-introduce the world to Gotham City". With that tagline, the show had so far invited many media stars and such people as the Flash from Central City. Even Commissioner Gordon had appeared once, taking bites out of a sandwich on the episode, _PD Fast Food_ , and introducing everyone to the hellish cuisine turned out by the questionably creative investigatory team members while they were concentrating all their energy on solving a big case. So, Bruce, as Gotham's most prominent symbol, couldn't put aside this Gotham show that he had personally put blood and sweat into.

At the time, he'd been with the host, strolling down the old streets of Gotham, chatting about the various Gotham horror stories he'd heard as a child. ("They say that ghosts are a particularly popular feature of Gotham," Bruce cheerfully made a face, "and that every inch of ground under the big church is home to some poor vengeful ghost. But I don't think that's likely-- We're not Yorkshire folk battling all the time with the Romans and the Vikings. But I loved the Ghost Lollipops in front of the church here as a kid-- Right, this flavor, and then you put on a thick coating of sugar...... but do you have to film this? My butler's going to lecture me again about eating too much sugar and ruining my dinner.") Although he wasn't exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, due to staying up all night, doing something like this in the cracks of space between Batman and Brucie, he could experience a taste of simple happiness.

But happiness couldn't last for long, just as they couldn't walk down the street for long before a passerby might suddenly stop them to ask a question (this could be deemed a special feature of the show). "May I ask, sir, have you seen this piece of news, Mr. Wayne." Some citizens, whether from bad intentions or simply from curiosity, dared to ask him, "It's regarding you and Clark Kent......"

"Huh?" Bruce blinked. "I'm sorry, may I please have a look at that?"

"Clark Kent a manipulative bitch", "Clark Kent had a scheme all along", "How many times has Metropolis drawn Gotham blood" -- under the visual assault from these tags, Bruce calmly finished browsing through the top page of the most important news items under the tag.

"Well...... Mr. Wayne?" The girl who had handed him her phone carefully asked him. "Do you and Mr. Kent...... Did he really have some scheme ready, or......"

There were many answers to that, of course, and among them, the one most suited to the character of Bruce Wayne as well as the safest was to stand there and play dumb. Anyway, he knew that his complete ignorance of the news when he'd been first asked about it had been captured by the cameras of all the passersby there, so under such oblivious circumstances, continuing recklessly on to defend Clark would only cause trouble for himself and his company.

Making such a decision under the present circumstances was such a clear, unambiguous thing, to the point that Bruce didn't even need to spend an extra moment thinking about it, but merely politely handed the phone back to the young lady's hand.

He even gave a winning smile to all those gathered around him, watching, with cell phones raised.

"I don't think he has any reason to do that." He answered firmly. "Plenty of people won't believe that when I say it, but the Mr. Kent I know is a gentle and a highly responsible person. I know some of you will think that I've been fooled by him, but I rather believe that some things really can't be faked. He's very patient with everyone, and as far as I've seen, he's well liked by his coworkers and friends. Not only that, but when I was kidnapped, he was willing to risk danger to himself to try and help me-- Nobody gives prizes to a dead man.

"Of course, I can't say that I know him perfectly, but he's the sort of person who, when he sees someone else in danger, won't be able to resist holding out a helping hand to them. Given all that, I don't believe he can be all that evil-- In any case, from the beginning to now, he's been the one innocently dragged into everything. So far, he hasn't gotten a single thing out of all this except some flowers and pestering from me. In fact, in contrast, his life has fallen into an irritating mess. So, I think in the face of this poor gentleman beset with bother, to accuse him of such things...... Anybody could see that that would be just plain cruel-- Don't you think so, my pretty little lady?"

***

"What you should have said at the time, actually, was 'I don't know anything about it' or 'I'm just as surprised as you', you know that, right, Mr. Wayne?"

Lucius wasn't exactly interrogating him but merely putting everything into words. Faced with this, Bruce replied with a lazy 'oh' and flopped back on his swivel chair, carelessly catching the keys to his sports car, tossing them up, catching them again.

"Although your remarks did indeed change the direction of the whole situation, people will always remain skeptical of a Cinderella story. When Princess Kate married into the royal family, the criticisms she experienced were similar. People may indeed shower him with blessings at this fairytale come to life, or they may instead curse him, because 'Why _him_? There's nothing special about him.' In the end, everyone's just reacting negatively to how someone actually managed to......"

"Get to the point, Lucius."

"You have now managed to make everyone believe that you treat Mr. Kent very differently-- Not only have you maintained a level of passion for a month without dampening, but you've tried to defend him in front of a large crowd." Dick, sitting beside him, swiped his phone and said, "Kent defended Batman on TV, and you defended Kent on an online channel. Everyone's finally moved on to raving about a Helen-of-Troy magnitude love triangle. 'Bruce Wayne can't make the cut' and 'Batman the revenant' -- maybe that'll cheer you up a little."

Bruce wasn't about to be cheered up or not by something like that. He dropped his gaze back to the computer, checking the trend graphs there for when the top influencers broke gossip news-- If this had been a piece of entertainment news that had coincidentally gone viral, then the Friday timing paired with the sharp increase and peak in online discussions were a clearly illogical match. However, there didn't seem to be any purpose to slandering Clark Kent that Bruce could surmise, other than somewhat stressing Superman out.

"Maybe some princess of some country somewhere fell in love with you," Dick suggested dryly. "Her scorned love turned to hate, and she decided to blacken his name."

"The point is, how should our PR team handle this moving forward, now that Bruce Wayne, who was never at the center of the controversy at the start, has become the very tip of the wave. I'm guessing you have a set of strategies ready, Mr. Wayne."

He tossed his keys onto the control panel. That odd peak was still bothering him.

"What about Clark?" he said suddenly. "He hasn't contacted me yet?"

"No, Master Bruce." Alfred, pouring him coffee, replied calmly, "Perhaps he has some more urgent business to attend to."

Some more urgent business to attend to.

Bruce opened Batman's email. Just like when he'd checked it a few minutes ago, it was completely empty.

"......Don't worry about that for now." He leaned back in his swivel chair, his fingers steepling of their own accord. "Don't worry about what I say on the channels-- This isn't some PR matter. I'm Bruce Wayne. I can do anything I want -- and nobody can stop me."

***

Reality had already proven that although Batman had a far better than average ability to ignore whatever he liked, Kal-El's ability to fake a determined lack of consciousness in this matter gave a real run for his money, compared to how Batman continued to maintain that he and Superman were nothing but close allies on the battlefield. He first waited three days for Superman to be the one to come find him, but that resulted in fuck all. Not only that, but the flowers that had been being sent every day to _The Daily Planet_ began to be returned to sender (if Bruce didn't know that Kent was Superman and that being Superman meant that for the vast majority of time, he was as stubborn as a steel ox, then he might have mistakenly thought that Superman had decided to defect and run). And then, when they had a meeting in the Hall of Justice, when he tried to stop Kal-El, the man had merely looked at him for a while and dropped a single mumbled sentence "How long has it been since you last slept", and then while Bruce was stuck wondering what does this have to do with what I asked him, he had made his getaway.

"......I never thought in my wildest dreams that there'd come a day where _I'm_ chasing after _Superman_." Bruce stared woodenly at the computer screen that showed Clark's (wallet's) tracker, "This is utterly unlike our personalities and usual modus operandi."

"I have to say, this is also really unlike my preferred tropes." Dick, hammering away at the keyboard, made his opinion known, "When I was into SuperBat, I never in my wildest dreams thought you'd be playing President Chasing Down A Wife. Furthermore, if there has to be a president here, I kind of think it should be Superman taking that role."

"......" Bruce thought making a confused sound at this moment would make him look too idiotic, but he couldn't help but be affected by Dick's words. So, he only rolled his eyes.

"Oh." This brave Robin had received his signal. His voice was calm, professional-- Not for nothing was he the brave big brother that later Robins would all love. "I like the scenario where the lonely Kryptonian Prince is seduced by the Bat of Darkest Night, only to find out, who'd have thought it!, that in the daytime his lover turns into sea foam-- What? _The Little Mermaid_ is awesome. You should be more well read."

***

It was too bad that the story of the Little Mermaid was fake. That is to say, Batman didn't turn into foam in the daytime, and the person who was avoiding him, Clark Kent, wasn't able to leap into the water to escape at first sight of him. At the last, he was able to capture him at a charity dinner.

(And to further assure that Clark wouldn't find some excuse to flee, Bruce chose to effect an action that couldn't possibly be misconstrued -- trapping Clark between his arms against a wall in a classic _kabedon_ discussion.)

"You're dodging me." He elucidated the truth of the matter.

Although he had been the one _kabedon_ -ed, he was a full three centimeters taller than the man who had done the _kabedon_ -ing. He blinked. "You're mistaken."

"Very good. So I guess you believe that you suddenly deciding to return the flowers is also something that I'm mistaken about."

"I simply think...... it's outdated."

"Outdated."

"You're a famous person, Mr. Wayne."

"You didn't know that until now? It seems I'm not famous enough."

This made Clark give a brief laugh, even though his eyes didn't have a shred of laughter in them.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what _are_ you talking about?" Bruce put on an innocent look of confusion. "Honestly, Clark-- I'm often driven to distraction by my beautiful babes, because you all always say one thing, and then you turn around and pretend you actually said something else -- while here I thought you were different from those girls who play hard-to-get! What is it that you can't say it directly?"

"I never thought there'd come a day when you would tell me I should just say things directly," Clark repeated. He looked like he was smiling, but it carried a trace of a rare exhaustion for him. "Honestly, just let me go, Mr. Wayne. I'm just a nobody."

This made Bruce's fingers tap the wall beside them in frustration. As soon as he noticed it, he stopped himself. "You can't possibly be avoiding me because of this." Bruce said, "In all the times we've interacted, you've never thought of yourself as just a 'nobody'."

"But everyone seems to have an opinion, and I want them all to shut their damn mouths." Clark shrugged. Bruce found himself thinking, if Kryptonians weren't a race of beings that could recover after a bit of sunbathing, then maybe he would see black circles under Clark's eyes from mental stress. "We don't need to make this any bigger of a thing, Bruce. At first, I only thought......"

At first, he'd only thought......

Clark Kent, aka Superman, Kal-El didn't finish the sentence. Conversely, he began to try to struggle away through the small space between them, using the fastest speed that a normal person could have-- Too bad there wasn't a normal person in the world who could escape Bruce's sights. As soon as Superman made a move, in the blink of an eye, he'd pressed him back into place.

"Stop that." Clark said, "Wake up. I'm trying to clean up both our images to before. What you're doing now isn't helping at all."

"I'm wide awake. I haven't drunk today, so this is a rare day, when I'm not drunk as a skunk. And what I'm asking for isn't a big deal. All I want is to know why some bastard who was accepting my advances, someone I was sure I'd catch very soon, is suddenly playing games with me-- Please, so what if I say it straight out, that I'm enraptured by you. You don't have to do anything about this, because this is all my problem, right? Even if it did cause a tiny bit of trouble......"

"You call all this a tiny bit of trouble?" This had to be an unconscious exclamation, because the next second, Clark closed his mouth and glared at Bruce with the full force of his fury. When he realized that Bruce didn't have an ounce of regret, he had to take another deep breath. His tone, Clark's tone, turned into the one that he used with Batman when he was trying to draw a debate to a close. "You don't have to," Kal said, "You don't have to do this, you know? This isn't what I want......"

"Aha, I knew it. Compared to me, the one you actually want is Batman."

"......What does this have to do with Batman." Clark couldn't help but raise his voice. If it weren't for the fact that numerous people were spying on them, Bruce would fear that he might soon make acquaintance with a fist. "I'm not joking with you, Mr. Wayne. I......"

"I'm not joking with you either," Bruce said. "For a 'nobody', your humble way of talking does have some power of persuasion."

This caused Clark Kent to pull his chin in. Bruce had never told him that whenever he did that, his stubborn-o-meter could leap straight up by two stories. It didn't need to be said that his jawbone was quite literally hard as a rock.

(This made Bruce very much want to stroke his chin, just like how a few minutes ago, he'd wanted to kiss Clark's mouth.)

Restraint, Bruce thought.

If he really kissed Clark here and then Clark punched him in the mouth, they would become a truly cliched story of a company president and make it to the first page of the tabloids -- presupposing that Bruce wasn't slammed through the wall by Clark's blow.

(But he really did want to kiss him, because so far, it looked like this was the most effective and therefore the most tempting shortcut for making Clark shut up.)

"You never _listen_ ," Clark complained.

"What, have we advanced to a level where we can say such things?" Bruce asked in surprise. "All right, then Ithink that you're heartless, you're unreasonable, you're being completely ridiculous, and you're just overreacting."

"How am I heartless and un......" Clark slammed on the brakes before he could be dragged into the mud by Bruce. "I don't want to bicker with you here anymore. Please excuse me, Mr. Wayne."

"I don't want to bicker with you either." Before Clark could turn and go, Bruce asked him in a voice loud enough for the whole hall to hear, "You're a reporter who's done all those interviews for all those stories, and here I am, a principal standing right in front of you-- Why don't you go ahead and ask me, when am I planning to propose to you?"


	14. Chapter 14

"And then, you should have seen that president's face! Right after that reporter ran away! His whole face was broadcasting the fact that he'd been shot down but he couldn't do anything about-- Who'd have thought this kind of thing could happen to rich people, too!! I'm gonna die laughing. Hey, didn't he force a kiss on Superman before? He's really not making a lick of progress on any front. Of course, the funniest part is that this reporter actually said that he'd accept whoever came after him......"

"I rather think he's a warrior for love, ready to chase love wherever it may lead him," Wonder Woman took a copy of the newspaper as she said, "No matter what, this kind of fearless declaration of love is the type of behavior that we should encourage......"

"Right, exactly, Bruce Wayne is fearless in pursuing love." Green Lantern laughed out loud, "Princess, you should take a look at the tons of scandals he's had in the past."

"I still don't understand. No matter what, he's very sincerely proposing marriage to this person in the newspaper. Although I'm not clear as to his past-- Is he the type of person who often proposes to people?" Aquaman joined with his question.

"I'll put down fifty cents that Bruce Wayne will be furious, and he'll exact revenge on this poor reporter who doesn't know how good he's had it." Cyborg's expression was quite animated.

"Your imagination is weak. Brother, we're talking about Bruce Wayne. _The_ Bruce Wayne! If you ask me, he'll probably buy up the whole _Daily Planet_ and then force Clark Kent to report directly to him. Oh, just the thought of that scene, tsk tsk."

"Ah, all right, all right......" Lastly, Flash, who was usually the one causing mischief but was happy to be the good guy in this sort of situation, raised his hand to say, "All right, quiet down, everyone. We still have a meeting to run."

"I'm so glad that someone present remembers why we're sitting here," Batman responded coldly. From fear of that cold front from Batman's subzero freezing gaze that caused one to shudder from the core, the atmosphere finally went from red hot to warm.

The exception was the League Chair, who sat unmoving, eyes staring blankly, even that spit curl of his hanging listlessly down.

He was not about to sympathize with Superman for being mocked in this way. Damn it, it wasn't as if he weren't mocked by a crowd of people as soon as he returned home.

***

"You have self-awareness. Just one hour ago, you stood in front of a crowd and announced your intention to propose to Mr. Kent, isn't that right, Mr. Wayne?"

The CEO of Wayne Enterprises, aka the steel backing for Batman and the entire Justice League, his preeminence even equal to Alfred, who took care of all aspects of Batman's daily life so that he wouldn't, in a moment of inattention, accidentally forget to eat and starve himself to death -- Lucius Fox was seated in front of him, perfectly composed, questioning him calmly.

"I......" Bruce, who had not only made a public proposal, but a failed one, opened his mouth a few times. "I," he said.

"You, sir?"

"It didn't go how I imagined it would."

"Oho." Lucius leaned back in his own chair, even though it was clear that Bruce was the one sitting in the boss's chair here. "How do you mean?"

Bruce hated this feeling of having not finished his homework and thus being put in the punishment corner. "My," he said. "My original plan was for him to burst out crying from joy."

"Burst out crying from joy."

"It didn't necessarily have to be that dramatic, but in any case," Bruce took a deep breath, "I meant to have a truly honest talk with him."

"I always thought, sir, that your definition of an honest talk was to catch someone and take them to your bed, not the reverse, to be taken to your marriage bed by someone else."

He hadn't missed the heavy swath of ridicule in Lucius's tone -- as if that would be of any use to the current situation. "Oh," he said dryly, after a moment had passed. "I guess I was a little impulsive."

"Just a little, Mr. Wayne?"

"Ah." He said, "Don't be like this. I'm trying really hard. I." He said, "I wasn't in control of myself. I." I.

He couldn't continue I-ing anymore.

Damn it.

Clark Kent.

That was an excellent move.

Just. You. Wait.

***

This was why at the Justice League meeting -- which was also a place of gossip about the relationship situation of their biggest financial supporter aka the Bruce Wayne who had just a month ago been quite the media darling due to his stolen kiss, despite the fact that everyone seemed to be in good spirits, of the League's two principal members, one looked as if he were sitting on a carpet of needles while the other was absolutely expressionless. There were many times when Bruce thought that Superman, sitting next to him, was trembling so hard he was vibrating. Flash must have noticed this, as he looked particularly in Superman's direction several times.

Everyone thought that it was from the awkwardness of having been dumped after being kissed by Brucie.

"Don't be like this, Big Blue!" After the meeting had adjourned, Green Lantern loudly sauntered over to pat his shoulder and say, "There are plenty of fish in the sea. Don't get so serious about that rich playboy. Everyone knows that he can kiss two hundred people in a month. Even if he's kissed you once, that doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah," Shazam leaned back into a supine position in his seat, joining in enthusiastically. "I think you should look around you and see if there's someone more worthy of your faithful affections. If you ask me, you should start looking for a lover from among the ones close around you."

Sitting right beside Superman, Batman gave an undetectable laugh of derision.

Sitting right beside Batman, Superman looked as if he wanted to squeeze himself into a rocket and blast off right then and there.

"However, we are all agreed that that wealthy person is not being serious with you." Even Wonder Woman joined in on the topic at hand. Perhaps this piece of gossip really was that attractive, but Bruce couldn't tell just what fucking part of it was that attractive. "Shouldn't you be glad of this, Kal?"

"I......" Superman said-- It looked like the virus that caused someone to be unable to say anything other than a repetition of the word 'I' was extremely contagious and had even now infected the invulnerable Kryptonian. "I don't think that way, Princess. Although this situation is very complicated......"

"Oh my god," Cyborg put down the newspaper he'd been using to shield his face. "You actually like that Wayne guy?"

"It's, it's really very complicated." Superman stuttered, his face red from it. When he spoke again, he even secretly glanced at Batman. "I'd rather not continue this topic of conversation."

"But, what about Batman?" Not having missed that glance (and apparently having no fear of death), Shazam excitedly asked. "What does Batman think? Supes, you're not worried Batman's going to yell at you over this......"

"Why would I yell at him over this?" In response, Batman spoke up lightly. His voice was gentle, low, even with a bit of amusement swirled in -- utterly unlike any tone they had ever heard before from Batman. The corners of his mouth even curled up in the slightest thread of a smile. "Of course, I must congratulate you for finally getting away from that man's clutches. Don't you think so, Kal-El?"

Superman froze.

"I......" he said. "You know I didn't mean that, B. I just, just got spooked all of a sudden. I wasn't thinking at all. I just felt I needed to calm down and think for a while......"

"You just needed to calm down and think for a while," Batman repeated. He leaned back, both hands resting on his abdomen, his voice chock filled with a kind of sarcasm that sounded like it'd been mutilated by a voice distorter.

This made Superman tighten his jaw. "I also didn't mean it like that, Batman. You know that what I've always wanted was......"

"What you want." Batman said, "How frightful. Why would I know what it is that you want."

When Superman got serious, his eyes could turn cold and bright like glass. But let it not be said that Batman couldn't see in there tiny slivers of pleading. Don't be like this with me, he seemed to be saying. Although as soon as those words left his mouth, it was as if he changed into a completely different mode: "B," he said. "We need to talk. We could talk right now."

"Talk about what? Regarding you and that richboy? Who touched whose ass, or who was the first to be attracted to whose ass? Excuse me." Straightening the armor at Batman's throat, Bruce stood, his entire body displaying a kind of perfect indifference. "I'm not interested in that."

"Batman." Superman tried to call him back.

Bruce blinked. His footsteps never faltering, he walked out.

***

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: I'm sure now that Batman and Superman are in a relationship.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: and Superman definitely likes Batman.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: we were all going nuts.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: So do you think it's because your guardian was ignoring all the advances Superman was making, so then he purposely dragged Bruce Wayne into it to make him jealous?

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: Oh?

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: Continue.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Argh it's hard for me to explain. You need to come see for yourself, dude. First time Batman ever used that tone of voice, and def first time I've seen him lose his temper like that.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: but Supes was in a really bad way, we all tried to cheer him up. I told him, it's because Batman cares about him that he's acting like that, but then he looked even more depressed. Dunno why.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: But if you ask me, Supes has no chill at all. If he had the same kind of attitude when he's asking someone out as when he's fighting, all this would have ended a million years ago.

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: Yeah.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: but Batman is a total tsundere. Superman just about wrote "All of this is for you" on his face. Don't you think he should give some signal about the whole thing?

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: tsunderes are such a pain to deal with.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: But you know what? Some people say that after falling in love, tsunderes turn into good wives.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: ol' Batman as a naked apron wife. Fuck. I'm gonna die laughing.

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: ........................

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: shazam

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: you're dead

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: huh?

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: i never type periods in chat

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: the person answering you just now was my dad

***

Shazam didn't die.

Though technically it wasn't that far from it.

However, Dick didn't have the time to worry about him for now.

He was worried his OTP might die first.

***

"Don't tell me you're going to break up over just this," Dick said hopelessly, sitting on the Batmobile's hood. "Even though him turning tail and fleeing was honestly kind of stupid......"

"Only stupid?"

"And it embarrassed you." Dick said, "But I think he really didn't mean that he was rejecting you. Your proposal was too sudden. Maybe he needs some time to get mentally prepared......"

He saw Bruce's expression.

"......Of course, even so, he shouldn't have run away," he said. "That was very irresponsible, very dirty, low-brow, like what certain scummy guys would do."

Bruce, picking out parts from the toolbox, hmmed at this. He didn't make another sound, completely hiding his expression until he'd slid back under the undercarriage.

"He _was_ surprised." Then, Bruce spoke again. "He told me he didn't want this to affect me too much. On some level, I think he believes that just being with me is enough. I'm guessing, if he had to be given some kind of official status in front of everyone, that'd result in disrupting my life, and that kind of thing makes him extremely uncomfortable."

Dick, far away above him, stopped for a few seconds, and when he next spoke, his voice sounded much closer to Bruce.

"You spoke after the meeting."

"No." Bruce answered easily and directly. "It was what he was trying to tell me that day, before I proposed to him."

"......So, you don't actually hate him?"

"Why would I hate him," Bruce answered lightly. "I understand it's for my sake. But that doesn't mean that, as the person being forced to accept his sacrifice, I have to be happy about it."

Dick thought for a while.

"Bruce."

"Hm?"

"You know you don't have to try and act contrary to Shazam's estimation of you as a 'tsundere'. You don't have to get everything off your chest in such a straightforward way."

Bruce rolled his eyes at this. He started to take out another screw from the undercarriage. "If you want to listen, listen. Otherwise, get back to your room and work on your homework."

"That sounds more like the Bruce I know." Dick said, "Great Scott, sometimes I think your superpower is turning everyone into your masochist subs."

Uttering a hm in reply, Bruce continued his disassembly work.

"You're saying that you aren't really going to break up with Superman over this."

We're not together yet. How the hell would we break up? Bruce stared at the car's undercarriage, feeling the urge to retort. However, the more mature part of him buried the actively childish part of him. "No, I won't," he said in a muffled voice. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let him off the hook."

"That sounds like you're smacking your lips over something. It's kind of like some fanfics I've read where it looks like a Happy Ending is coming but then the writer suddenly gets creative and starts throwing in new obstacles, dragging out what was a great story into a mess for ten more chapters."

Ah, of course, Dick followed, I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about Superman.

"He hasn't done that either," Bruce answered. "I was too impatient."

"......Do you know?" Dick said, "You're being so reasonable right now that it kind of scares me."

"I'll have a good talk with Superman." After finally finishing the repairs to the undercarriage, he slid the creeper out, allowing himself to emerge from underneath. Right above him were Dick's blue eyes, filled with worry.

Why did everyone seem to have a pair of eyes that reminded him of a certain person's blue eyes?

"I'll have a good talk with him. Within a week, I think." Not betraying any emotion, he picked up a nearby rag and began wiping his hands. "We'll finish this."

"That sounds a bit like you'll finish Superman," Dick judged. "But since you say so, I'll choose to believe you."

He paused like this for two seconds, and then unexpectedly, he pressed close and hugged Bruce, who was still lying on the creeper. "You know that I'll always support you, right, Bruce?" he said, "Even though I'm a Superman fan, to me, as my family member, _you're_ the one who's most important to me."

He wanted to express a lot of things. It was complicated, but Bruce didn't want a long, brotherly heart-to-heart.

So, without a flicker of emotion, he smeared the engine oil on his hand all over Dick's hair.

"You promised me six As. How many have you gotten, Grayson?"

***

Sadly, although he was a consummate hacker and could track various poisons and other unnecessary knowledge as closely as the family jewels, when it came to schoolwork, Dick was still a teensy bit short of six As.

A teensy bit meant an at-home tutor, meant a heavy load of homework, meant that in the next two weeks, Robin would not be appearing on Gotham patrol, nor the Justice League's chaos of a battlefield.

We said chaos, right?

In truth, Batman's premonition wasn't incorrect -- what was fearful wasn't the smoke you could see but rather the silent part that no one could see a whiff or hear a sound of. The first place to experience an explosion of trouble was Star City on the West coast. Star City Slayer and Brick's attack was suddenly backed up by Queen Bee, and just as Batman was gathering heroes to support Green Arrow on site, Ra's al Ghul and Klarion suddenly began causing trouble again. The promise he'd given Dick of "a talk within the week" was delayed indefinitely. For countless evenings following, all the members of the Justice League basically had to drag their own bodies to the Watchtower (thank heaven and earth he had rush-finished building the Watchtower, as the zeta tubes solved the difficult problem of how no one except Flash and Superman could get from one end of the Earth to the other in a short amount of time). He and Superman naturally wouldn't choose an emergency like now to disregard priorities.

And at the rare times when it was only the two of them left together at work, they got along well.

"What about your job?" Bruce asked. "The summer flu wreaking havoc?"

"No," Kal answered, "you've already gotten the flu. If I have the flu now, when I get back, they'll be going wild speculating over where I caught the flu from. So, no, thank you."

"You say that like if you found a different reason, they wouldn't be reminded of how a certain someone coincidentally also is claiming sickness and refusing to see anyone."

"Oh dear." Superman passed over the modeling analysis he'd finished. "Look at whose fault all this is now?"

"Yours." Bruce answered absently after taking the report, having put all his attention on it. "The internet has spoken. You're the one who seduced me first."

***

Although the chaos that the rogues caused came in unending waves, at least they didn't include Joker or Luthor-- The former was sitting pretty in Arkham, avidly participating in the criminal gambling rounds of "When will Batman go on a violence spree over Bruce Wayne and Superman". The latter was continuing work with his distinguished company in his grand plan against Superman. As long as these two didn't get in the mix, eighty percent of the cases could be resolved with no difficulty. Batman thought so originally, anyway, until Klarion placed a curse on Superman, "For every bit of strength you use, you become more of a regular person", which had the result where the stronger one was, the weaker one became. Directly after this, Ra's al Ghul's megabomb entered its final countdown.

"We're out of time!" Green Lantern shouted. "My shield can't block this much energy. We have to shoot it into space!"

"There's still fifteen seconds!" Cyborg's fingers flew over the keyboard. "The bomb 

has a control system. I need to gain access!"

"Flash," Batman said, "Quick, use the Watchtower to evacuate everyone within a hundred-mile radius. Wonder Woman, Aquaman, get ready. Superman......"

Superman.

Superman had already taken several strides forward.

Sometimes, Bruce would think, before he had even shouted the name, Superman, perhaps he had already known what was going to happen next.

The way the Kryptonian grabbed it was quick, elegant, like a flying bird, lifting its wings slightly in the moment before flight, and then in the next second, this man had disappeared into the air like an arrow loosed from a bow, the afterimage he left behind accompanied only by the crisp sound of a sonic boom. Having steadied himself only by reflexively shooting out a grapple, Bruce lifted his head to the sun. The mind of the world's greatest detective, the dependable core intelligence of the League, in that moment experienced a rare moment of utter blankness.

He swore that he heard the percussive explosion of that bomb that had the power of nearly a hundred thousand sticks of TNT, even though that should be only his imagination. Space couldn't possibly transmit any sound. It was an empty space, a nothingness, a silence that could devour everything. Staring at the explosion point that had been completely swallowed into the light of the sun, Batman began his bellowing. "Green Lantern, get into the stratosphere to ascertain the situation! Cyborg, connect to the Watchtower. I need data! Wonder Woman, Aquaman, contact your people and ask them if they understand anything about the magic that Klarion used! Flash, go find Shazam and Zatanna!"

The entire hero team, even in the midst of their panic, moved in accordance with Batman's orders as usual. Everyone knew that the situation was closely urgent. Green Lantern grabbed hold of Superman, who, like a cannonball that had been shot out of a cannon, was now falling back to earth. His eyes were tightly closed, his handsome features turned pale from agonizing pain. "Go with Flash to look for Shazam and Zatanna. They should be in South America fighting against Black Adam and Ultra-Humanite. Finish the battle as quickly as possible and then bring them here. Quick!"

When Bruce used a dagger to cut open the Kryptonite cloth that had already fallen into a state of brittle weakness and began to analyze the shards of debris embedded in Superman's flesh, he must have woken up. Kal gave an outcry.

"Don't move." Holding the dagger in his mouth, Bruce took out a lighter as he gave his gruff warning. "There's a shard embedded in the middle of your chest. I have to get it out before it pierces your lung or an artery."

He must have recognized Bruce's voice -- although Bruce couldn't quite tell how well he understood. In any case, after Bruce finished speaking, those tightly tensed lips fluttered slightly.

Bruce used the flame to bake the small dagger's cutting edge. Then, he lifted the dagger and with a coldness that lacked any emotion, he once again studied the situation at hand. Of course, he had performed surgeries worse than this, and the subject -- himself -- had not been anesthetized. However, every time that Bruce had to take an action like this, it was because of a damned precarious life-or-death situation.

Among surgeons, there was an implicitly understood rule: that unless there was no other way, one should never perform an operation on one's own family. It was said that a doctor couldn't heal himself, but sometimes healing oneself was not the most terrifying experience one could have. When you were holding a knife, and the tip of that knife hung over the life of someone intimate to you, a vanishingly rare number of people could maintain calm, and even fewer people could face this without feeling panicked.

However, when Bruce's knife penetrated Superman's flesh, his fingers were as steady as rock. The razor-sharp edge reflected a kind of cold lack of emotion that was nearly inhuman.

"Be the man of steel for me," he said.

Superman fell silent. And Bruce took the opportunity of that deathly silence to pry the many-pointed piece of iron upward a bit. Superman's body began shuddering involuntarily.

Bruce thought this was a shivering due to pain, until a few seconds later, when he realized it was merely due to Kal being unable to suppress a soft laugh.

"The hell are you laughing for." Meanly, he said, "Do you want to die, you absolute idiot."

"......like frying an egg," he said.

"What did you say?" he demanded. The position of the embedded iron piece was very tricky, but Bruce had already picked it out halfway. He was lying, _because he wanted Superman to stay conscious_.

It was just that at the time the man had spoken, his voice had been like a broken bellows, whooshing in and out. Broken from being squeezed, fluid like blood was pouring without cease into his lungs.

"I said." Still, when the man looked at him, the dim light of deep blue sparkled just like usual in his eyes. "If I really accidentally went and died. You have to remember to let me cook in the sun a few more minutes, like frying an egg......"

If one way doesn't work, sun on the other side. Remember to flip. Otherwise, the egg fried in that way won't taste good.

For just a moment.

For just a long moment.

Although Bruce's hand still moved mechanically, his heart was actually falling into a deep panic. He thought that Kal was finally about to die, he would most definitely die, he had already grown confused, the delirium just before death was causing him to spout a bunch of nonsense, like a mad person's crazy talk. He was definitely going to die, while Bruce, having finally pried out that piece of iron, Bruce, who guarded him alone, felt his blood growing cold as if freezing into ice.

Straight until the man looked at him, and after a while, suddenly extremely effortfully yet also very determinedly lifted the corners of his mouth.

He smiled softly at him.

So, Kal-El was trying to make him laugh.

He was lying there, close to death. But the one thing he was worried about was whether Batman, who was at that very moment trying to save him, who was trying to snatch the remaining wisps of his life with his hands, whether he could, at the last, give a soft smile.

This made Bruce want to punch him.

You idiot, Bruce wanted to say. Are you mentally incompetent?? You, are you an imbecile?! What are you thinking about at a time like this. Did your brain, when you first exited that Kryptonian spaceship, did you land on the ground headfirst? I've never met a fool so stupid as you! When God gave you two seconds of breath, you goddamn used it for something like this?! Do all you Kryptonians have your brains filled with dogshit? This joke is not goddamn funny at all, frying eggs, what kind of mental incompetent comes up with that garbage metaphor? If this is going to be the last sentence you ever speak, couldn't you have goddamn thought up something a tiny bit better to say?! If you were really to die, how am I going to describe your final moments to those people who idolize you, have you thought of that? Do you want me to spend the rest of my life telling them with a serious face that their Superman heroically and fearlessly fell in battle, only to recall at the end your ridiculous words here?!

And anyway, who can goddamn laugh at a time like this, idiot?!

A thousand, ten thousand words choked Bruce's throat, and when he at last pried that damned iron shard out from Superman's body, Bruce discovered that he remained unable to control his wish to punch Kal's face into his chest. He really was too worked up with rage, he was much too infuriated. He was so angry that he was dizzy, confused, muddled, to the point that--

To the point that he finally couldn't stand it anymore, and he bent down and bit Kal-El's lips.

That was definitely a human's lips, soft, fragile, to the point that Bruce had only to bite down ruthlessly to taste the cloying scent of salt and iron. The inside of Superman's mouth was likewise filled with blood, vulnerable blood exactly like a human's. Bruce wanted to tell him that a blood-soaked kiss like this was too damned abjectly inferior. He had never met such a weak chickenshit, so Kal, if you goddamn don't want me to go the rest of my life remembering you as a weak chickenshit, then you goddamn better behave better before Uncle here beats you up.

He had so many things in his heart that he wanted to tell him, he had so many curses he wanted to throw at him. In the end, he didn't have time to utter any of these words, before he once again felt Kal gasping a laugh under his lips.

"Don't act like a daytime soap heroine, Bruce." He looked at him, and although the laughter pulled at his wound, staining his voice with a kind of bloody static, for his sake, those sky-blue eyes were bent into a curve that pulled one's heartstrings.

He was staring at him thus candidly, in such a heart-filled way.

"Go fuck yourself," he cursed. "This master's cooking skills with eggs will turn them scrambled."

If this had any effect, it was only to make the brain-fried Kryptonian laugh even harder. "All right......" He forced down a wet, dirty cough. "You're not like a heroine anymore. Now you're like the world's rudest daytime soap hero."

"Who do you think's to blame for me being rude?" Bruce grabbed his collar. He took note of how Kal's pupils had slightly expanded, and this made him speak again, as if, if he were to just keep speaking, he could hold him here. Even at a time like this, he didn't know what over half the things he said were-- They were probably not nice words, but that sounded as if he cared. He pressed his forehead tightly against Kal's forehead, again and again, over and over, as if by doing this, he could transmit everything inside of him to him.

Kal, he though. Stay strong, Kal.

"Uh, ah...... Um." Some person was suddenly clearing his throat. "I've called Mera over. She said she's pretty sure she's seen this magic before. Although I'm not sure if I should interrupt at a time like this......"

It was these words, this heavenly downpour of rain on a drought, that made Batman wake up and call back his lost rationality. He lifted his body slightly and looked around without expression. He saw Flash, Green Lantern, Shazam, and Zatanna had arrived. Everyone surrounded the two of them in silence, and then exchanged blank glances.

"......What are you standing around for?!" Batman ordered roughly in ill temper. He stood and backed away two steps. His hard chin had never been this cold and solid. "Heal him!"

While Zatanna, Shazam, and Mera worked together to heal Superman, no one dared ask Bruce what had happened just now, but this didn't mean that the superheroes had no unspoken opinions about this. For instance, Flash felt, Batman and Superman had a pure friendship as fellow social justice warriors. Aquaman thought that this might be a type of resuscitation technique. Green Lantern couldn't be sure that this wasn't Batman taking a version of a revenge attack on Superman.

And even Shazam, who had the Courage of Achilles, didn't dare to say that single answer that every one of them was actually thinking.

This awkwardly silent mood continued until the team of three magic-workers let loose a bout of small cheers -- this was like a miracle descending upon them, it was rare moment that you were unlikely to see often -- it was as if sunshine gilded that half-asleep man in a layer of gold, and the countless frightening wounds that had existed before, that had drawn a person's undivided attention, began to heal themselves amid the light. In more or less only a few minutes, Superman, weak, exhausted, was yet already glowing just like every time in the past.

Everyone was moved, except for that calmest, most unfeeling man. And when he'd opened his eyes, the first thing Superman did was to smile. Sincerely and politely, he thanked all of them, thanked every person there. He greeted everyone, let everyone have a chance to assure themselves that his body was well and hearty -- almost everyone. Because as for that most impatient, most uninterested person there, the person who seemed to be suppressing a shout of Why aren't we going home yet, the dark-as-night Batman -- he blew right by him.

Batman crossed his arms. He was the only one here uninfected by the mood surrounding Superman's awakening, and he was also, as usual, completely lacking in an interest to chit-chat with Superman. So, each of the countless times when Superman gently, elegantly landed in front of him, all he did was to huff impatiently and turn his head away, with zero pretense.

This behavior could make a person very awkward. However, if you wanted to avoid a sincere Kryptonian rescue dog, then you would discover, merely this level of refusal was completely inadequate for desisting the passion that emitted from the deepest wells of Superman's heart. They watched baldly as Superman tilted his head, like at a dignified little cat lolling in a tree who declared insistently that he didn't need any help, observing him ceaselessly, waiting, until at last, he found a chance that he thought was appropriate.

In that moment when Batman heard his question, and he was finally utterly unable to resist any longer turning his head, Superman, with unsurpassed suddenness, yet with decisive resoluteness, acting as if he were playing a prank, stole a kiss from the corner of Batman's mouth.

"......I'm starting to worry about Supes's personal safety," someone said dryly. "Has he bought life insurance? If he hasn't, we can help him get some."

And yet, at this moment when his life was in severe eminent danger, Superman's eyes were bright. He looked exactly as hatefully innocent as every time in the past when he infuriated Batman with complete lack of awareness. Even the corners of his mouth secretly hung out an incomparably playful smile.

This made Batman complain again in frustration. "Boyscout," he said softly as if he were annoyed.

And then, just when everyone was busy puzzling over what he'd meant by that, he roughly grabbed Superman by the collar.

And dragged him into a much wilder, and also a more adult rated, deep kiss.

"......Oh," Flash said.

Aquaman covered the eyes of Shazam, who was screaming, "Fuck did you guys see that you guys saw that right Batman and Superman are kissing".

Green Lantern didn't have time to express any opinion, because he was holding up a video camera in readiness to document this very important moment that would be engraved into the history of the JL (or at least the history of the young heroes who were reprimanded by the old Bat and desperately needed a bit of something to escape).

Anyway, no one expressed any opinions of disfavor.

In summary.

In the eyes of their fellow superhero vigilante coworkers.

This thing had come to a successful close.

***

As for Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, the talk between the two of them was delayed for a whole week. Cleanup work for the League needed them, and even once all the problems were resolved, Bruce's first priority was to crawl into his bed and pass out for 24 hours. Other than dragging himself up to stuff some food into his mouth, he did nothing else. Once he woke up, he lay lazily in bed for over an hour. In addition to how the damn bed was fucking comfortable, his brain was resisting thinking about anything meaningful.

When he finally had the motivation to crawl out of bed and make his way downstairs, pattering in his slippers, planning to go to the kitchen and pour himself a bit of something or other to drink, he heard the sound of three people talking in the room.

Two of the people were very familiar to him, Dick and Alfred. As for the third, he couldn't pretend he wasn't familiar.

It was Clark Kent.

The reporter who had come to visit Mr. Wayne was sitting in the seat that Bruce had once dreamed him being in, chatting energetically with Dick.

"......and then I went to visit the Buddhist shrine that they built midway up the Himalayan mountains. They have a unique silk-woven product called a tonka. I don't know how to describe it to you......

"That's probably a kind of religious art, but also including history, culture, and all manner of topics."

"Wow, Alfred, you've been to Tibet?"

"I once did some little, unimportant business there, Master Dick."

"I believe Bruce should have a great understanding of the place, because I remember you told me before, you did some grueling training there."

Along with those words, the gazes of all three people in the room moved as one to where Bruce was leaning against the doorway, holding his mug, lazily observing them.

"No." He yawned. "You misremembered. I was talking about the Alps."

"You definitely talked about the border between Nepal and China, Bruce, I remember that for sure."

"Who knows, then? Maybe that was actually the Rocky Mountains." Bruce drew out his words, "So, why are you in my dining room-- Haven't you gotten better yet from that hateful summer flu?"

"Oh." Clark pursed his lips slightly. His look in response to Bruce's head-tilted demeanor was completely innocent. "This is a very, very serious bout of the flu."

"I don't understand why you let a person sick from a contagious virus into my house, Alfred." He turned toward the kitchen and began to leisurely make himself some tea-- Although he probably wouldn't be able to use a coffee machine properly in this life, he could manage something at the level of tossing some tea leaves in a cup and then pouring a kettle of boiling water in.

At least, he believed that he could.

"I thought it was a superbly appropriate choice for Master Kent to come care for you -- someone who has come down with the same 'flu' and who has been lying in bed for an entire day, Master Bruce. And now, Master Dick, the time for you to go to bed has arrived. Miss Betty has told me to inform you, if you can't turn in your history research report tomorrow, she will tell Master Bruce about the matter......"

"You've already told him just now! God, Alfred, and I thought you were on my side!"

"In the matter of helping you to get into Princeton, I am indeed on your side......"

He heard the two voices, one old and one young, recede gradually, and he didn't even need to turn and look to guess that, before they left the room, Dick -- desperately maintaining the pretense of a perfectly calm demeanor, not at all some Superman superfan, only the well-behaved, serious, upright ward of the person Superman was pursuing -- was repeatedly turning to look over his shoulder, trying to spy on the two of them.

He tapped his foot irritably, waiting for the water on the gas stove to boil. Until Clark suddenly let out a chuckle.

The next second, he was standing at his right hand side, solicitously lifting the kettle, which up until a second ago hadn't yet come to a boil and this second was boiling hot from being heated by heat vision, and solicitously steeping Bruce's tea for him.

Show off, Bruce thought in disdain.

"So, you really told them you caught the summer flu." When he opened his mouth, he started talking about something completely different. "You're not avoiding suspicion anymore?"

"Hm, about that." Clark put on an air of thoughtfulness. "I've thought about it a bit, and I think something someone once said had the right of it -- that no matter what excuse I give, the whole world will think that I've come here to your place. If that's the case, then I might as well come here publicly." After he'd returned the kettle to its place, he got to the cupboard first and opened up the cabinet of Wayne Manor's emergency sweets (Alfred's direct-to-customer specials). "More?"

It was obvious that Superman had used his X-ray vision to cheat-- Perhaps Alfred and Dick had secretly given him a helping hand. Bruce began to chuckle. "Childish," he judged.

But the childish Clark didn't at all take it to heart, happily raising his eyebrows at him. "Likewise, you are also very childish, Mr. Wayne," the reporter said simply and good-naturedly. "I'll go ahead and accept that as a compliment.

***

Now, Bruce was curled up comfortably on his sofa, using his phone to begin lazily reviewing Bruce Wayne's personal inbox, which he hadn't opened even once in the past half a month. When he did this, Clark sat down on the side of the sofa where his feet rested.

(And, having read the situation excellently, he put his feet on his own lap.)

(Bruce was perfectly pleased, as anyone would be who had once used this Superman brand foot warmer.)

"You just don't plan to ask why I came to visit?" After a few minutes had passed, Clark couldn't resist anymore.

"Oho, about that -- my inbox has given me a lot of inspiration." Bruce used his most garish Brucie voice to answer him, "Were you planning to come sleep on my eight hundred square meter waterbed, or to enjoy my monthly five million dollar maintenance budget, Clark?"

 _"Of course, Batman wouldn't mind either if you wanted to kiss him,"_ he continued, speaking in Kryptonian. "However, if you want to do cosplay, you had better wait for me to bring my cowl up-- My cosplay is _extremely_ realistic, Clark."

In response to this last hint, Clark laughed and shook his head. Bruce suspected this was an effort to conceal his blushing ear-tips. _"Don't use Kryptonian to say things like that, Bruce."_

 _"Oh, when you're like that, I just want to say even cruder things, Mr. Kal-El."_ Bruce's smile squeezed his eyes into slits. "Has anyone ever told you, _your abdominal muscles make me think of......_ "

He wasn't able to complete the sentence.

The reason he wasn't able to complete the sentence was, Clark, whose face had gone completely red, suddenly resolutely encircled the arch of his foot.

The arch of his foot.

Fuck, yes, that's right, correct, sorry.

Even the physically imperviable, chemically invulnerable, okay fine, he wasn't actually that amazing but for sure he's the Black Knight, the embodiment of terror, the Batman.

The arch of the foot has some flesh that is damned sensitive to tickling.

Having suddenly been tickled until he was laughing, unable to breathe, Mr. Batman, furious, began kicking at the cheating, rule-breaking Kal-El's thigh. "Is this the way you behave as the damned upright Superman, Clark Kent?!"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Wayne." Clark put on an innocent face as he grabbed his ankle, and that pair of bright, blue eyes were at this moment both infuriating and hateful. "But a child who swears needs to be spanked."

This made Bruce start giggling again. "This is idiotic," he said. _"I'm Batman, and Batman doesn't play games."_

"I rather wish he will get used to this kind of thing soon," Clark said with a face full of purity. "I have a _very active imagination_ when it comes to how to play _certain games_ that involve cosplay."

This made Bruce Wayne widen his eyes.

 _"I am a skilled and adroit worker with words,"_ Clark answered him with utter seriousness.

***

"So, the reason you were sitting in my living room in the middle of the night was because you wanted to show off your Kryptonian work ethics?"

"Kryptonian is a language that requires a skilled manipulation of the tip of the tongue." Clark blinked his eyes cheerfully. "But this time, there is actually something I want to give you."

Bruce wondered for a moment what he could bring him. His first thought was perhaps it was something like a little black box, possibly with lead, possibly without lead -- depending on whether Clark wanted to put a small ring inside glowing with green, or a small ring that sparkled jewel-bright. However, he hadn't expected that what he would receive was a heavy, thick document and a black bank card.

"......In general." He judged drily, "This kind of gift is something that I give to other people, not what other people give to me."

"I noticed, Mr. Wayne." Clark said, "However, I believe that every person deserves to receive a gift......"

"What you're talking about is, giving someone a bank card with a Batman symbol printed on it, and using an all black theme so that it might be mistaken for a high level membership card."

"That's my work salary debit card," Clark pointed out severely.

"What's the point of you giving me something like this," Bruce pointed out coldly, "I'm not going to become a Batman fan just because I marry you, you star-chasing stan."

"I just felt that you might like the idea of my things having Batman insignias on them." Clark answered, "And if you don't like it, you can give it back to me, you know."

This made Bruce feel rather offended: "You can't take back a gift. What kind of nonsense is that. So," he tapped the document with his knuckles. "This?"

"The deed to my house."

He looked through it with a serious eye. "Fuck, your family farm is small."

"You can't insult my home," Clark said. "Although I know you could buy two hundred farm plots the same size as my home just by exercising your fingers a bit."

"I could do two thousand, too."

"That's not the point, Mr. Wayne. If you keep on like this, it'll take me over eight hundred years to get to the main point."

"Oh, we have a point. So, what did you want to say by showing me this pathetic little bit of assets. That you're poor? I can ask the Wayne Foundation for you whether they've already apportioned all the funds for impoverished persons this month."

"What I'm saying is that this is the entirety of my assets, Bruce." Bruce lifted his gaze, and he saw Clark kneeling on one knee in front of him. "I've decided to propose to you."

Bruce blinked for a while.

He didn't know whether he should first scoff at Clark's horrible and utterly unromantic proposal method, or if he should ask just exactly where he'd gotten that goose egg sized diamond ring.

Fuck, the size of a goose egg!

"This was handmade by yours truly." Superman expressed great self-satisfaction about this.

"What you're saying is, you bought two hundred kilos of coal?"

"Oh, that would be too expensive-- No, I spent half a day working a pick-up job in Africa."

Bruce considered for a moment the image of Clark Kent in a dark African shed, industriously digging ore, and then he refused to continue thinking about it.

"This diamond is more goddamned expense than everything else that you just gave me," he said. "And it's ridiculously unsightly! What kind of nouveau rich taste is this. As big as a goose egg, sir, did you want to make a ring or to give me a hazelnut to roll around in my palm-- what on earth is this made of? Have you at last evolved to the point where you can create even platinum with your bare hands?" 

Clark appeared offended. "This is Kryptonian metal, Mr. Wayne," he said. "This entire ring was made from Krypton-related materials. It's an absolutely unique......"

"--and stupendously ugly diamond ring," Bruce summarized. "I wouldn't wear this out of the house. No, don't even think it."

"But I want to propose to you as Clark Kent. Clark completely ignored him. "So I thought, Superman can make a singularly unique ring like this, but Clark Kent can only offer his entire monetary assets.

"Without these, I can't live on this planet under the identity of Clark Kent." His dark blue eyes stared at him without shifting. "I'm willing to hand over my assets and my life, all the rights I have in this world, to you.

"So, are you willing to be with me, for a lifetime forever and always, Bruce?"

***

Bruce swallowed for a moment.

"Forever and always is an imprecise phrase."

"Bruce."

"I have to point out that making a promise like this is impossible and completely illogical. It's nothing more than the dopamine in your brain causing you to have hallucinations, causing you to swear oaths that fly in the face of science and common sense."

"Bruce."

"And also, this ring really is ugly. Pardon my saying so, but it's so ugly it's beyond the pale."

"......" Clark took a deep breath. "Bruce."

"All right, all right." Having been nagged out of his mind by Clark, Bruce said, "How am I supposed to wear it-- Do you think I need to sit up on the sofa on ceremony for this serious occasion?"

***

Clark expressed that he didn't need to sit up straight, although of course if possible, he could be a bit more serious.

Bruce was glad he hadn't sat up.

That way, he could hide how, when he took the ring that Clark was offering, and an outlandish scream came from outside the door of "Ahhhhhhhhhhh I knew this day would come I just knew it ahhhhhh Alfie thank you for allowing me to hide behind the door my dreams have come true", at that moment, he didn't fall off the couch.

***

The ring was indeed ugly.

And very showy.

Full of nouveau rich bad taste.

The first time Bruce wore it out, everyone was looking at him with expressions of oh god he's gone nuts.

That was the one and only time.

Although Bruce felt honestly furious about this awful taste (this was the same terrible taste as how Superman wore his underwear on the outside of his uniform.)

However, he really was quite satisfied by how everyone paid attention to him via their disbelieving stares.

***

"Perhaps a goose egg really is too big," Superman said. "Next time, I'll try to mold one the size of a pigeon egg."

"Never mind that," Batman replied. "You don't need to give me a new one. I already have a better one."

What better one? Superman's face was filled with confusion.

Batman smiled.

Superman didn't know.

That Kryptonite ring that Superman had gifted to Batman a long time ago.

It had, in fact, been in the fourth pocket of the right-hand side of his utility belt this entire time.

***

**EPILOGUE**

When Superman went to invite Green Arrow to join the League, he didn't think that Green Arrow would actually hesitate-- That is, whenever they took care of Star City bad guys together, Green Arrow was very energetic and got along well with the vast majority of people. The vast majority of members of the League had already tacitly agreed that, sooner or later, he would certainly become one of them.

It looked like Green Arrow quite liked the Justice League as well.

Except for one thing.

"Uh......" He said, "Although, but, well that's the thing, you know. I know that Bruce Wayne is engaged, but I still want to ask.

"When you talk about joining the League...... will that come with the risk of being sexually harassed?"

When he said the six words, the risk of being sexually harassed, his eyes brightly hinted at some specific thing.

......oh. Superman rubbed his face and thought for a bit.

"You're worried that he'll harass you?"

"I know he's already engaged, but after all, he is Bruce Wayne, so it's hard to say. His interest in skintight clothing seems fishy to me." After considering deeply and in detail, he said to him, "Don't you think the way he looks at certain people who wear skintight clothes is rather perverted? I'm very worried that if I make a mistake and punch him one day, the next day, I'll find my room with water and electricity cut off."

This was an extremely practical consideration, so Superman considered it for a while.

"Regarding this issue." He said, "You don't need to worry about that too much."

"Because, for all time, the only person that Bruce Wayne is allowed to sexually harass is myself. It. Can. Only. Be. Me. -- Do you understand, Mr. Green Arrow?"

***

Batman continued trying to catch Kal-El losing his focus in public.

And at yet another discussion over a manifest of the damage from a League battle -- and by the way, we should mention that this month, the battle damage had been controlled surprisingly well -- he at last seized on just such an opportunity.

"Kal-El." He said, "do you have any thoughts regarding our source for the next month's budget?"

"Hm?" The supremely distracted Superman turned his face. His attitude appeared completely pure and innocent. "Oh, about that, I might have an idea."

_How about if I bribe that investor with my body to get him to invest some more? What do you think of that, Batman?_

Nobody could understand why Batman was abruptly enraged by this. However, in any case, they had to take the meeting to an emergency adjournment, because Batman expressed that he needed to make Superman understand clearly just how tragic a consequence he would receive for getting distracted during a meeting.

***

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: I've discovered a secret.

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: what

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: The most amazing secret I've ever heard in my entire life.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: How could they do this.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Why did I have to discover something like this.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Not even Achilles could help me now.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: No, wait, you've probably known this forever.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: **You've. Known. This. Forever.** Robin!

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: oh, if you're talking about that, then it's true, i definitely was the first to know, just think, i live with him

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Ha, ha, ha.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: You should have told me! I'm your best friend, but you're not even willing to tell me this little thing?!

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: when did i say you were my best friend?

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: anyway you cant blame me-- it was batman who said, we have to maintain constant vigilance

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Why do you have to maintain vigilance about something like this?! After all, you know I wouldn't spread it around, fine, actually I don't even know who I would tell this kind of thing. Right now, my whole being is still jittering like crazy. And this is all because you didn't give me any kind of hint beforehand, Robin!

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: okay shazam, this is not some kind of earth shaking surprise. just think about it, simply the fact that he and clark got so close so quick should explain everything, right?

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Clark what?

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Oh, you're talking about Batman and Clark.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: But that's not what I was talking

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Wait.

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: ......Robin?

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: shit

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Are you saying what I think you're saying.

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: shit

SolomonsWisdomisUndefeatable: Robin????

stopcomplimentingmyassiknowitsfine: im going off line, i dont know, dont ask me, i didnt say anything, i dont know anything

***

It was ten hours from when Superman and Batman's identities would be outed.

There came a scream from the Watchtower rec room: "Victor! Victor! Holy mother of god! Did you know, Clark Kent is Superman and Batman is Bruce Wayne!

......

All right.

So it wasn't even ten seconds.

......At least Cyborg was outed as well alongside Superman and Batman.

"You're speaking as if I would forgive Robin just because of something like this," Batman said coldly.

"All right, all right, Bru...... Batman." Green Lantern madly pounded the shoulders of the two League members who had unfortunately been outed, "Robin didn't do it on purpose-- Who would have thought that Shazam would react in such an exaggerated way to what was actually just a little thing like how Superman lets you bite from the other end of the chocolate stick that he's holding in his mouth?"

Flash's plate tipped over. "What?" He said, "I hate you. My brain has been dirtied by that image."

"And I thought he was talking about how he chanced on the scene when you were being picky about your food and made Clark eat the salad on your plate for you." Wonder Woman said, confusedly, "But it's true that Batman being a picky eater isn't a good model......"

Cyborg looked like his stomach hurt.

"But think about it this way. The way he likes to feed Superman things off of his fork isn't much to get fussed over." At last, this one time having caught up on some news that he could understand (after cram-studying large amounts of newspapers), Aquaman folded his arms severely and said, "I heard that Bruce Wayne often acts this way toward Clark Kent in public."

In the hallway outside, there came the ruckus of something tripping and falling to the ground, then, from the sound of it, turning several miserable tumbles.

"What were you saying?" Having just returned to the meeting room, Green Arrow crawled over and stumbled to his feet. "Batman and Superman, Bruce Wayne and Kent......"

Everyone gave him looks of pity. They waited for him to let loose a scream over this shocking reality.

"Are you League members in a public foursome relationship----------------???????"

***

"I fell it might be better to let Oliver believe that we're a foursome, rather than letting him discover that Batman is Bruce Wayne and Superman is Clark Kent." Two hours later, curled up together in their shared room, Superman said, while peeling an orange for Batman, "Look, he was so frightened he couldn't even keep his fake beard on."

"Even if he didn't drop his fake beard, I would know that he's Queen." Impatiently, Batman said, "He sent an email to me the very night that you went to talk to him, asking me if Superman was my kept lover. And in the whole West coast, there aren't that many wealthy people who can provide the technology for that vigilante kit of his."

"Ah." Placing the pieces of orange in Bruce's palm, Superman paused very slightly for a while, "How did you answer?"

"What do you mean, how did I answer?"

"Regarding Queen's question."

"I didn't have any obligation to...... oh." Batman stopped and lifted his head, matching Superman's gaze.

"I told him," when he picked up a piece of orange and fitted it through Superman's lips, he switched to the accent of that notorious East coast playboy, "that you were the _most_ expensive sugar baby I've ever had-- After all, in the matter of spending my money, you've never spared a bit of effort, isn't that right, Mr. Kal?"

This made Superman smile again, "That's right." He followed his way down to bite Bruce's fingertips. He licked and played with them lightly while he said, purposely slow, "But, I'm working just as hard to save you money, aren't I, Mr. Wayne?"

***

"I have a question." One day, at the breakfast table, Bruce finally remembered this matter: "When did you discover that Batman was Bruce Wayne, Clark? I thought I'd been meticulously seamless in my disguise."

Faced with this question, Clark stared at the coffee cup in front of him, concentrating as if a flower might suddenly grow out of it.

"......Clark?" Bruce asked suspiciously.

"Ah, that is." Clark stopped for a while before saying, "That depends on whether or not you'll punch me after you know."

"Do I look like someone that easily excitable, Kal-El?"

"Whenever you call me Kal-El, I feel like your excitability index can reach up to 80%. Oh, all right." Under Batman's implacable, expressionless stare, Clark raised his hands. "I heard your heartbeat."

"You heard my heartbeat?"

"That's right," he said, "which is to say, the first time I rescued you, the time I rescued Bruce Wayne. For a moment, I thought I heard you. I knew that you never liked for me to use my powers to find out your position, so I generally don't do that. But at that moment, your heartbeat sounded so close, and I was wondering, why would you come to Metropolis-- and yet not let me know ahead of time?"

"......" Bruce tasted this sentence for a while. Certain threads that had formerly been scattered in his consciousness slowly linked together into one line of thought, and that Superman that had been obliviously floating in mid-air also metamorphosed from his previously innocent and kind image to something that was the opposite. "You know that what you did is like cheating, Mr. Kent?"

"I......" Clark said, "I realized. Although I must say that I truly didn't do it on purpose, I was only wondering where you were, and then...... and then you crowded your way to meet me on your own. At the time, I thought you were doing it on purpose."

On purpose, his ass. Bruce stared at him in disbelief. "How was I doing it on purpose?"

"You were pushed out by the others and tumbled." Clark said, "That's what made me notice you. And then your heart remained steady and stable-- Did you know, Bruce, that of all people who fall, your heartbeat is steady to the point that it's impossible to miss, and it's an obvious unique personal marker of yours."

"......" Bruce blinked, and when he opened his mouth again, his voice sounded both gentle and tranquil. "So, what you mean is, it was my fault."

"I did _not_ say that." Clark kept both his hands raised, "I spent a bit of time to ascertain your identity-- You know that when it's required, I am cautious and careful, Bruce."

In deep interest, Bruce leaned his body to one side and crossed one leg over the other.

Clark seemed to be considering whether letting out a scream and turning and running would be the correct choice.

"You let me praise Superman's greatness to high heaven, you let Batman crawl into your lap unawares, and then on a certain evening, you came looking for him to tell him that a certain reporter was in love with him, crazy in love with him."

"Bruce."

"Don't interrupt me." Bruce said, "Directly following that, you again came to the other me to share your little love story, just to make me kiss you......"

If this is you being cautious and careful, I suggest that after today, you switch that phrase with bold and reckless, Bruce said. Believe me, the editors of the Oxford Dictionary will thank you for your efforts to decrease their workload.

"......" Clark took a deep breath. It was obvious that he could tell that Bruce was not truly angry at him. However, when it came to Batman, if you weren't able to properly decode certain questions, this 'not truly' could, in a matter of a few seconds, transform into "this old man is definitely damned angry at you" and any normal person would never take that kind of risk.

"I was...... I was very concerned." So, when he opened his mouth again, he looked extremely serious, to the point that even the joke of pretending to be frightened disappeared. "I was very concerned about exactly what you thought about the whole affair, because, god, of course I couldn't possibly not care about this. Of course, if you didn't want to let me know certain things, then of course I could pretend not to know. Just like...... the things on the TV that you mentioned before, you know, it's all just a dog and pony show or something like that, and if I decided to bring it up, it'd sound like I'm imagining more there than exists, or that I'm pressuring you or something......"

("I love him," he remembered Superman once earnestly saying to him, "So I owe him.")

"But the way you were working so hard to defend me, in front of me, made me begin to believe that maybe that wasn't actually...... wasn't actually a joke or something that you'd done out of necessity or something like that, because if that were really the case, you wouldn't need to debate me so seriously or to prove to me that Superman is the best......" He continued dryly, his forehead curl hanging dejectedly flat on his forehead, looking as if it had already sensed an omen of a coming raging storm, "I felt that maybe I still had a chance, maybe, I should make some slightly more proactive attack......"

"And then you seduced me into crawling into your lap."

"Ah, about that." Clark said, "I should point out, that actually was......" Under Batman's gaze, his voice again took a turn, "my fault."

"Your fault."

"Can you stop repeating everything I say?" Clark said, "Did you know that every time you repeat my words, it makes a person's hairs stand up on end."

But what did that have to do with Bruce. "And so you came to find me, repeatedly giving me hints that that man was in fact you----" Up to this point, it was fine, fine, really fine, but, "Immediately following, at the Justice reception dinner, you began dodging me again."

"Oh. Because at the time, I started thinking again that I'd mistaken things, that I'd been too rash. I didn't want," he carefully yet not leaving out any part of the truth, said, "I didn't want to keep pressuring you, before you thought the time was right. I knew how enraged you would become once you lost control of a situation."

"So, you just let everything develop naturally into the state it's in now."

"......" Superman looked very wary, "What do you mean, what state?"

"You, sitting at my breakfast table, wearing my family ancestor's heirloom wedding ring, eating the breakfast that my butler made using ingredients from my kitchen."

"......" Clark, face filled with worry, lowered his head to look at the bacon on his plate. "......Is this very serious?" he asked.

"Oh." Bruce said cheerfully, "This depends on whether or not you make me feel that my investment in you was a good one, Mr. Kent. Although I don't want to say it, if the reputation of Superman being a con artist were to spread about, that wouldn't sound nice---- My investment in you is a long-term one, Mr. Kent, and I would hope that the next few years, and the next decades will all have good returns."

How about now, before you go to work, allow me to audit the dividends from my shares. What do you think, Mr. Kent?

***

The last thing worth mentioning about this whole story occurred a year later, on the floor of the World Technology Expo. At the time, Bruce and Lex Luthor just happened to be the last two people to leave the speaking hall, and that elite personage who had habitually looked down on Bruce the idiot suddenly decided to smilingly congratulate Bruce on his newlywed status.

"Oh-ho." Bruce said, "That was a whole year ago---- But I never thought you'd care about me this much. You're a good 'un, Lexie."

"After all, I pitched a little effort into the whole thing." Luthor smiled contemptuously, "Being able to see you and Mr. Kent happily married gives me great satisfaction."

"Pitched a little effort?" Bruce asked naively, "Sorry, I don't understand?"

"That breaking news." Luthor brushed his lapel carelessly, "that was a pretty good catalyst, wasn't it, Mr. Wayne?"

And then, this conniving, relentless villain closed the distance between them and, using an affected manner that was disturbing and a speaking accent that could be considered the absolute peak of causing a hateful reaction, so that a certain part of Bruce thought that when he had the chance he had to practice it himself, he spoke deliberately, word by word, into Bruce's ear, "I think, regarding your strange crush on Superman, that's absolutely understandable. After all, he is _the_ Superman. However, as a priceless Kryptonian individual, his genes should be passed down-- As opposed to being chased by some richboy, he should marry six hundred women in order to provide us with six hundred little Kryptonian bastards, don't you think so, Mr. Wayne?"

"Um......" Bruce fixed his tie, and when he lifted his head, just as Luthor had expected, his eyes were bright, exactly the picture of an idiot, altogether unable to understand the significance of this matter to the world. "What you're saying is, you felt that I actually had a good chance with Superman then?"

This was a question completely beneath Luthor's answering it. "Anyway, sir, now that you're getting along well with Mr. Kent, and I believe that Superman's highly developed ethics won't allow him to accept a man who already has a husband, this matter is best for us all-- I hope that we can work together in this happy fashion moving forward, Mr. Wayne."

While he spoke these words, he walked away, head and chest lifted high and well satisfied.

Leaving Bruce Wayne there alone where he stood.

***

He stood there, and after a few seconds, he suddenly let show a smile that was almost exactly the identical expression of satisfaction.

Very sorry, Luthor, Bruce thought in satisfaction.

Superman has never, does not, and will never-- He will never make bastards with that pile of women in your imaginations.

He belongs to Batman.

Depend upon it, my guarantee.

  


\----The End----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Endnote:
> 
> I originally had a lot to say, but after finishing these 19,000 words I didn't feel like typing anymore for a short time, which is to say, I'll keep this short. (shit)
> 
> Actually this was my first time taking the challenge of a 100,000+ word longform story. When the writing was hard, I didn't think I would succeed. After all, because the topic is a light one, so the main plot was definitely not as hard as for an epic. But anyway, I was happy while writing, and when I finished I felt satisfied. So anyway-- This can be said to be worthy of celebration!
> 
> Following this, if I get the chance, I'll probably write some serious long stories. As for casual ones, I only have some prompts for short stories on hand, maybe a bit over 10,000 words if I push it. Also, there's the injustice where I had promised MuMu I would write a long story for her... maybe I'll throw out the first chapter tomorrow on Tomb Sweeping Day.
> 
> Thank you to MuMu for accompanying me from the very beginning to the end! I absolutely shamelessly harassed you every day with things like "I'm done I can't write anymore damn it I'm gonna throw it all in a pit".
> 
> Thanks also go to all the little angels who were willing to leave me comments, direct messages, or hearts and likes. I'm not at all exaggerating when I say, as a writer, receiving this kind of response is the happiest of things, so a big, big, thanks to you all!
> 
> I also have to say this in all seriousness: I've always felt that writing a story is an interactive thing. The author creates its main plot and outline, and the readers, through influencing the author, reflect some images of themselves onto it. Of course, I'm not saying that the author will edit the plot or anything for the readers. However, in reality, for the vast majority of stories in the world, the goal of creating them, other than the author's own sense of satisfaction, and wanting to see your own OTP interact some more, basically, the goal is to be read by people.
> 
> To be read, whether or not you get feedback, that alone has a significant value. No matter if you've ever given me comments or done anything, if you've only read to this point, I want to give you my most sincere thanks.
> 
> Thank you for liking my story.
> 
> May we have the fortune to meet again.
> 
> Translator's Note: I have nothing as eloquent to say, except to thank CrimsonMapleLeaves again for allowing me to play in her sandbox. Thank you to all the folks who read as I posted and were incredibly patient in between increasingly delayed chapters, never giving up or getting angry. Thank you also to the many commenters who laughed and screamed with me along the way and let me know that my translation has transmitted even a bit of the original's awesomeness. This has been a wonderful experience. As Maple said, may we meet again!
> 
> Link to original story here: [公开示爱很危险，尤其当你没有那么喜欢对方的时候](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22583554) by CrimsonMapleLeaves. Please do hop over and leave kudos and/or comments. Her English is excellent. ;)
> 
> * * *
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:
> 
> [如何激怒一只蝙蝠（并火上浇油）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004487) (Superman/Batman), by CrimsonMapleLeaves  
> [Give Me A Reason](https://archiveofourown.org/works/587343) (Superman/Batman), by kuonji  
> [Who Needs A Shotgun When You've Got Kryptonite?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262473) (Batman, Red Robin) by kuonji  
> [Brief Dark Teatime of the Lost Souls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377114) (Pirates, Secret Window, Ringu), by kuonji  
> [The Dinner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/437815) (Stargate SG-1), by kuonji  
> [A Game of Misunderstandings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697165) (Superman/Batman), by JustGettingBy  
> [Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124231) (Batman, Superman), by LilLayneeLoo  
> [Leap of Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/61504/chapters/81280) (Batman movies), by Mithen  
> [Masculine Mongoose stories](https://yudkowsky.tumblr.com/post/190740125660/yudkowsky-mirasorastone-yudkowsky) (original), by Eliezer Yudkowsky


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